tKfje  Htbrarp 

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Unitoergitp  of  JSortl)  Carolina 


Collection  of  Jlorti)  Carolmiana 

C8I3 
Blfchl 

c.2 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00017477972 


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Form  No.  A-369 


/ 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 


He  noted  as  never  before  the  slender  grace  of  her  form 

with  its  lithe  erectness 


THE 

HOMEWARD  TRAIL 


BY 


WALDRON  BAILY 

Author  of  "  Heart  of  the  Blue  Ridgb 


Illustrations  by 
GEORGE  W.   GAGE 


New  York 

W.  J.  Watt  &  Company 

publishers 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH    &    CO. 

BOOK   MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN,   N.   Y. 


4n 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 


CHAPTER  I 

DAVID,  sitting  under  an  apple  tree,  stared 
with  vague  eyes  toward  the  thicket  of 
dogwood  that  bordered  on  the  far  side  of 
the  orchard.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  his  gaze 
quickened  as  there  came  a  movement  of  the 
foliage,  and  a  fawn  stepped  daintily  out 
into  the  open,  where  it  stood  placidly  regard- 
ing the  young  man  with  limpid,  friendly 
eyes.  One  ear  stood  out  at  a  right  angle 
from  the  head;  the  other  was  laid  back,  at- 
tentive to  something  within  the  thicket. 
David  knew  that  this  something  must  be 
Ruth,  with  whom  her  fawn  wandered  every- 
where. He  stood  up  expectantly.  A  moment 
later,  the  girl  issued  from  the  shelter,  and 
at  sight  of  the  youth  stopped  short  beside 
the  fawn,  which  muzzled  her  hand  in  a  gentle 
caress. 


2  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

For  a  little,  the  boy  and  the  girl  were  silent, 
studying  each  other  with  intentness,  in 
which  was  something  partly  admiration, 
partly  surprise,  as  if  they  saw  with  a  new 
clarity  of  vision.  It  was  borne  in  on  David 
with  startling  abruptness  that  his  childish 
playfellow  of  years  was  a  child  no  longer, 
was  indeed  a  woman  grown,  and,  too,  beauti- 
ful. He  noted  as  never  before  the  slender 
graces  of  her  form  with  its  lithe  erectness. 
His  glances  roved  half -shyly  over  the  delicate 
contours  of  the  oval  face,  and  he  saw  that 
she  was  very  fair.  He  had  known  it  before, 
but  not  as  he  knew  it  now  in  this  flash  of 
illumination.  An  unfamiliar  beauty  was  re- 
vealed to  him  here  and  now  in  the  red  lips 
curving  so  tenderly,  in  the  satiny  purity  of 
the  complexion  with  its  petals  of  rose  in  the 
cheeks  and  the  trace  of  brown  given  by  the 
sun,  in  the  aureole  of  hair  that  was  itself  like 
sunlight,  in  the  lucent  blue  eyes,  which  shone 
with  mingled  mirth  and  pride  and  affection. 

Ruth,  for  her  part,  in  her  contemplation 
of  David  recognized  something  unfamiliar. 
She  did  not  quite  understand  its  significance, 
but  she  felt  herself  half-confusedly  abashed 
by  its  presence.     She  sensed  dully  that  her 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  3 

boyish,  companion,  as  if  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  had  become  of  a  man's  full  stature. 
The  thought  subtly  distressed  her,  even  while 
it  gratified  her.  So  she  thrust  the  idea  out 
of  her  mind  in  order  that  she  might  greet 
him  again  to-day  as  yesterday. 

"Oh,  Dave!"  she  called.  There  was  a 
warm  note  beneath  the  gayety  that  rang  in 
her  tones.  "Just  think  of  pappy 's  trusting 
you  to  do  all  that  business  for  him !  I  reckon 
he  never  let  anybody  else  collect  money  for 
him."  She  laughed  as  she  added:  "You 
know  pappy 's  mighty  particular  about  his 
money. ' ' 

David  grinned  in  response. 

"Yes,  there  ain't  no  two  ways  about  his 
being  almighty  close.  He  sure  does  make  the 
eagle  squawk  plumb  awful  every  time  he 
pinches  a  dollar.  I  cal'late  I'm  some  proud 
over  his  sendin'  me  with  that  load  of 
apples." 

"It  means  you're  grown  up,  Dave,"  Ruth 
answered,  and  there  was  a  hint  of  wist  ful- 
ness in  the  music  of  her  voice.  Then,  because 
she  herself  by  no  means  understood  the  full 
significance  of  her  words,  she  went  forward 
quickly  with  the  fawn  at  her  side.     When 


4  THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL 

she  came  to  where  the  young  man  stood, 
she  paused,  and  put  her  hands  to  his  cheeks, 
and,  as  he  bowed  his  head  toward  her,  lifted 
her  face,  and  put  her  lips  to  his.  In  the 
same  second,  she  drew  away  from  him,  and 
her  cheeks  flamed  as  they  had  never  flamed 
before  from  the  kisses  she  had  given  him. 
She  stood  mute  and  motionless,  with  down- 
cast eyes,  in  a  trouble  half-shamed,  half- 
sweet. 

David,  too,  stood  wordless  in  a  great  con- 
fusion. The  kiss  had  loosed  in  him  a  flood 
of  emotion  that  thrilled  and  bewildered.  It 
was  as  if  consciousness  were  drowned  in  the 
tide  of  feeling.  And  as  in  the  case  of  a 
dr  *  ming  man  the  whole  life  passes  in  re- 
view during  a  few  seconds,  so  now  before 
the  mind  of  David  a  scroll  was  unrolled.  But 
this  panorama  showed  only  the  kisses  of 
Ruth.  They  had  been  frank,  free  kisses  all, 
some  tender,  some  mischievous,  always  kindly. 
For,  as  to  this  young  man  and  woman,  each 
was  an  only  child,  and,  since  they  lived  on 
adjoining  farms,  they  had  always  been  play- 
fellows. David  remembered  the  day  of  his 
first  great  grief,  when  from  a  field  whither 
he  had  gone  to  weep  alone  over  the  mother 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  5 

who  lay  dying,  lie  had  seen  his  father  come 
out  of  the  house  and  pass  down  the  road 
toward  the  village.  A  great  desolation  had 
fallen  on  him,  for  the  man  bore,  according 
to  local  custom,  the  measuring  stick,  which 
he  had  cut  to  the  length  of  his  wife's  form, 
and  which  he  would  now  carry  to  the  carpenter 
to  serve  as  a  measure  for  the  coffin.  So  the 
boy  had  known  that  his  mother  was  dead. 
Ruth  had  come  to  him  in  the  misery  of  that 
hour,  had  comforted  him  with  her  kisses. 
Again,  within  the  year,  when  his  father  went 
to  fight  in  the  Confederate  cause,  leaving 
the  son  in  charge  of  William  Swaim,  Ruth's 
father,  the  girl  had  welcomed  him  to  his 
new  home  with  kisses,  and  had  cheered  him 
in  his  loneliness.  When,  on  his  return  from 
a  hunting  trip  with  his  father  in  the  Blue 
Ridge  Mountains,  along  the  upper  reaches 
of  the  Yadkin  River,  he  brought  her,  accord- 
ing to  a  promise  made,  a  fawn  which  he  had 
caught,  she  had  showered  on  him  glad  kisses 
of  gratitude.  There  had  been  other  kisses 
innumerable — joyous,  teasing,  tender.  Here 
was  one  of  a  sort  altogether  different.  In 
it  was  something  disturbing,  something  curi- 
ously penetrating   and  potent.     It   was   a 


6  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

mystery  to  this  boy  who  did  not  yet  realize 
his  manhood. 

The  rough  voice  of  Swaim  broke  the  spell 
that  held  the  two. 

"Drat  thet-thar  dumned  pesky  deer  t' 
Tophet!  Ye  left  the  corn-crib  door  open, 
Dave,  consarn  ye!  An'  the  ornery  critter 
has  done  et  nigh  a  full  peck  o'  seed  corn, 
an'  thet  seed  corn's  wuth  money,  by  cripes!" 
The  old  man  glared  accusingly  in  turn  at 
David  and  Ruth  and  the  fawn,  which  had 
slipped  away  to  a  little  distance  as  if 
in  conscious  acknowledgment  of  its  guilt. 
David,  though  aware  that  he  was  not  at  fault 
in  the  matter,  forbore  any  attempt  at  de- 
fense, for  he  had  no  wish  at  this  time  to  pro- 
voke further  his  penurious  and  irascible 
task-master.  Ruth,  however,  boldly  resented 
this  flouting  of  her  pet. 

1 'You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
pappy,"  she  declared  spiritedly,  "to  be- 
grudge a  darling  little  thing  like  Mollie  a 
few  ears  of  your  old  corn.  And,"  she  added 
impudently,  "likely  you  left  the  door  open 
yourself.  Dave  is  a  sight  more  careful  than 
you  are,  pappy,  and  you  know  it." 

The  father  drew  his  shaggy  gray  brows 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  7 

in  a  fierce  scowl,  which  the  daughter  bore 
undaunted.    His  voice  came  with  a  rasp. 

"Git  inter  the  house,  Miss  High-an'- 
Mighty,  an'  help  maw  with  the  bakin'  an' 
sweepin'  an'  sich-like  women's  tricks,  instid 
o'  lally-gaggin'  round  hyar  a-wastin'  yer 
own  time  an'  Dave's." 

The  scarlet  flooded  Ruth's  cheeks  once 
again  at  this  direct  attack,  and  she  retreated 
in  haste,  the  fawn  following.  The  old  farmer 
turned  his  frown  on  David,  whom  he  re- 
garded grimly  for  a  long  time.  He  was  a 
hard  man  and  uncouth.  He  had  a  reputation 
for  meanness  throughout  the  community, 
and  it  was  deserved.  In  his  fashion,  doubt- 
less, he  loved  both  his  wife  and  daughter, 
but  they  suffered  none  the  less  from  his 
penuriousness.  His  parsimony  fretted  Mrs. 
Swaim  more  than  it  might  have  most  of  the 
neighboring  wives,  there  among  the  foothills 
of  the  Blue  Ridge,  in  North  Carolina,  for  she 
was  of  better  birth  than  her  husband,  and 
had  even  received  the  advantages  of  a  course 
in  the  female  seminary  at  Salem.  In  her 
romantic  girlhood,  her  fancy  had  been  caught 
by  the  handsome  and  virile  mountaineer. 
She  had  been  speedily  disillusioned.     Her 


8  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

single  compensation  was  in  Ruth,  and  for 
her  daughter's  sake,  she  had  held  herself 
from  falling  into  the  slovenly  ways  and  il- 
literate speech  of  the  community.  So,  too, 
she  had  trained  her  child  as  best  she  knew 
how  in  matters  of  deportment  and  manner 
of  speaking.  William  Swaim  had  no  sym- 
pathy for  any  such  "  'tarnal  foolishness.' ' 
He  demonstrated  the  fact  now  by  his  aspect 
as  he  stood  glowering  at  the  young  man. 
He  was  barefooted,  and  shirt  and  overalls 
hung  loosely  on  the  tall,  thin  form.  In  the 
deep  hollow  between  the  outstanding  neck 
muscles,  the  huge  Adam's  apple  jumped 
spasmodically,  as  he  chewed  his  quid  of  to- 
bacco, and  either  spat  or  swallowed  the 
juice.  The  face  was  thin  and  drawn,  brown 
and  wrinkled.  The  beak-like  nose  hinted  of 
cruelty  and  avarice.  The  sparse  gray  hair 
and  the  tangle  of  whitening  beard  were  un- 
kempt and  frowsy.  The  eyes  were  pale  and 
watery,  with  reddened  lids.  They  were  blink- 
ing now  as  he  contemplated  David  with  a 
malevolent  distrust,  which  found  expression 
in  his  next  words. 

" Hit's  powerful  resky  trustin'  business  t' 
a  harum-scarum  galoot  what  hain't  got  sense 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL     -       9 

enough  t'  lock  wanderin'  wild  beasts  outen 
the  corn-crib."  David  opened  his  mouth  to 
protest,  but  thought  better  of  it,  and  per- 
mitted the  slur  to  pass  unrebuked.  "They'll 
be  quite  some  money  a-comin'  fer  thet-thar 
load  o'  limber-twig  apples.  I'm  puttin' 
right  smart  o'  confidence  in  you-all,  David, 
an'  I  dunno  as  I  had  orter  'a'  done  hit.  As 
I  said,  it's  resky — pizen  resky."  Having 
thus  relieved  his  saturnine  humor,  Swaim 
became  almost  cheerful,  and  spoke  alertly. 
"Time  we  got  busy  with  uie  load,  t'  git  hit 
done  come  night,  so's  yc  kin  start  at  sun-up 
t'-morrer." 

David  followed  obediently,  even  with  huge 
satisfaction.  For  this  commission  given  him 
by  Swaim  to  sell  the  apples  in  Salisbury, 
though  seemingly  such  a  trifling  thing,  was  in 
truth  a  matter  of  serious  importance  to  those 
chiefly  concerned.  To  the  elder  man,  the 
sending  forth  of  the  youth  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  test.  David's  father  and  he  had  been 
friends  as  well  as  neighbors.  Naturally 
enough,  by  reason  of  their  mutual  liking,  and, 
too,  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  their  farms 
adjoined,  and  that  each  had  an  only  child, 
they  had  planned  a  marriage  between  their 


10  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

children.  With  more  discretion  than  parents 
in  such  cases  usually  display,  they  had  kept 
the  project  secret  from  those  most  concerned. 
Swaim  had  much  liking  for  the  lad,  which, 
however,  he  was  at  pains  to  conceal.  His 
decision  to  entrust  David  with  the  sale  of 
the  apples  would  never  have  been  reached, 
had  he  not  felt  that  it  was  a  duty  he  owed 
himself  to  try  out  the  business  ability  of 
his  daughter's  prospective  husband.  So,  to 
him,  a  bit  of  petty  marketing  carried  deep 
significance. 

To  David  (and  to  Ruth  as  well)  the  matter 
was  serious  because  it  brought  to  the  young 
man  the  first  real  responsibility  in  his  life, 
and  the  fact  marked  his  stepping  across  the 
threshold  that  separates  boyhood  from  ma- 
turity. A  trivial  event  truly  in  the  judgment 
of  those  more  sophisticated.  Yet,  to  these 
primitive  folk,  the  occasion  marked  an  epoch. 
For  that  matter,  this  undertaking  apparently 
so  simple  was  destined  to  prove  the  begin- 
ning of  vital  episodes  in  the  lives  of  David 
Simmons  and  Ruth  Swaim. 


CHAPTER  II 

BEFORE  dawn  the  following  morning, 
David  had  thrown  the  harness  on  the 
tassel-tails,  as  he  called  the  mules,  and 
hitched  them  to  the  canvas-hooded  wagon 
laden  with  apples.  A  blast  of  the  horn  sum- 
moned him  to  the  breakfast  which  Ruth  had 
prepared  and  now  served  to  him.  But  there 
was  still  constraint  between  the  two,  and 
their  words  were  few  and  perfunctory. 
David  seemed  to  give  his  entire  attention  to 
the  meal  before  him,  and  thus  left  Ruth  free 
covertly  to  study  the  clean-cut  features  of 
the  young  man,  framed  by  the  waving  black 
hair.  She  considered  for  the  first  time,  with 
a  maidenlv  wonder  that  was  almost  awe  and 
wholly  admiration,  the  breadth  of  his  shoul- 
ders, the  depth  of  his  chest,  the  slim  waist 
and  tapering  flanks.  It  was  only  when  at 
last  he  arose  from  the  table  with  a  sigh  of 
repletion  that  David's  black  eyes  met  Ruth's 
in  a  long,  intent,  questioning  gaze.  Presently, 

11 


12  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

the  girl's  glance  wavered  and  fell,  and  the 
color  mantled  her  cheeks.  David  felt  a  thrill 
of  exaltation,  though  he  could  not  in  the  least 
understand  why. 

"I  wish  you  luck,  Dave,"  Ruth  said.  Her 
voice  was  very  low,  faltering  a  little.  "I'm 
sure  you'll  make  a  good  job  of  it."  But  she 
did  not  offer  him  a  kiss,  nor  did  he  ask  it. 

"Do  the  best  I  can,"  he  replied,  and  hur- 
ried out. 

Within  a  minute,  he  was  seated  on  the 
driver's  seat  under  the  shelter  of  the  pro- 
jecting canvas  top,  and,  with  a  savage  crack 
of  the  long-lashed  mule-whip,  was  off.  Cran- 
ing back  for  a  last  look,  he  saw  Ruth  in  the 
doorway,  who  waved  her  hand  to  him,  and  he 
waved  in  return.  Then,  with  a  great  con- 
tentment in  his  heart,  he  settled  himself  to 
the  long  drive.  Though  David  was  too 
familiar  with  his  surroundings  to  be  deeply 
stirred  by  them,  nevertheless  the  beauty  of 
the  scene  harmonized  with  his  mood,  and 
served  to  emphasize  it.  His  eyes  scanned 
with  pleasure  the  luxurious  tints  that  the 
autumn  had  painted  on  the  foliage  of  dog- 
wood and  oak  and  sweet-gum.  A  bob-white 
called  from  a  thicket,  and  David  whistled  a 


Then,  with  a  great  contentment  in  his   heart,  he   settled 
himself  to  the  long  drive 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL         13 

response.  He  listened,  without  any  futile 
thought  of  imitating,  to  the  soft  and  exquisite 
singing  of  a  mocking  bird  hidden  within  the 
wood.  There  was  no  drawback  to  his  satis^ 
faction  as  he  journeyed  on.  The  fall  rains 
had  held  off,  so  that  the  roads  were  good, 
and  he  made  excellent  progress.  Other 
wagons,  similarly  loaded,  swung  into  the  high- 
way from  cross-roads,  until  David  found  him- 
self one  of  a  caravan  moving  leisurely  within 
a  cloud  of  thick,  red  dust.  The  song  of  birds, 
the  murmur  of  brooks,  the  rustling  of  leaves 
beneath  the  light  wind  were  overborne  by  a 
riot  of  coarser  sounds — the  thudding  of 
mules'  hoofs  on  the  hard  clay,  the  clanking 
of  harness  chains,  the  creaking  of  heavy 
wagons,  the  bawled  oaths  of  drivers,  the 
hisses  and  crackling  reports  of  whip-lashes; 
at  the  fords,  the  noise  of  churned  waters,  the 
snorting  of  the  beasts,  the  raucous  laughter 
and  shouted  conversations  of  the  teamsters. 
At  nightfall,  the  train  halted  and  made 
camp.  David,  after  he  had  attended  to  the 
mules,  fried  his  bacon  and  eggs  over  the 
common  fire.  Then  he  rolled  himself  in  his 
blanket  on  the  ground  beneath  the  wagon, 
and  fell  asleep  to  the  lullaby  of  strenuously 


14  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

strummed  banjos  that  came  from  the  boister- 
ous group  still  gathered  around  the  fire. 

The  strangeness  of  his  situation  caused 
David  to  awake  long  before  the  first  glim- 
merings of  light.  In  his  eagerness  to  accom- 
plish the  task  set  him,  he  at  once  began  his 
preparations  for  the  road,  since  he  could  see 
clearly  enough  by  the  starlight.  He  had  fed 
the  mules,  and  breakfasted,  and  started  off 
before  anyone  else  in  the  camp  was  stirring. 
So,  it  came  about  that  in  mid-forenoon  he 
swung  the  mules  on  the  easterly  stretch  of 
the  route  to  Salisbury. 

It  was  as  he  came  close  to  his  destination 
that  for  the  first  time  his  spirit  lost  its  buoy- 
ancy. There  before  him,  on  a  tract  of  the 
rising  ground  between  the  town  and  the 
river,  loomed  grimly  the  high  stockade  of  the 
Confederate  prison.  At  first  glimpse  of  it, 
David's  thoughts  flew  to  his  father,  who  had 
been  captured,  and  now  languished  in  some 
place  like  this  far  to  the  north,  under  guard 
of  Union  soldiers.  David  had  heard  much 
concerning  the  sufferings  of  the  captives  here 
in  Salisbury  prison,  and,  as  he  pitied  them, 
he  was  filled  with  dire  forebodings  over  the 
fate  of  his  father.    Where  the  road  passed 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  15 

alongside  the  high  stockade,  the  ground 
sloped  sharply  upward,  so  that  from  his 
perch  on  the  wagon  seat,  he  was  above  the 
level  of  the  stockade's  top,  and  could  look 
down  and  behold  every  detail  of  the  grue- 
some spectacle  within  the  barrier.  David 
pulled  the  mules  to  a  standstill,  and  stared 
at  the  scene,  fascinated  and  appalled. 

The  acres  of  the  inclosure  were  crowded 
with  a  tatterdemalion  horde.  These  men  were 
gaunt  starvelings,  the  wretched,  famine- 
stricken  victims  of  war 's  cruelty.  They  were 
clad  in  soiled  rags  of  uniform,  which  flapped 
grotesquely  loose  on  the  emaciated  bodies. 
Through  the  masks  of  bushy  whiskers 
showed  pallid  features,  lighted  by  cavernous 
eyes.  Some  were  so  weakened  by  privations 
that  they  were  shivering  even  in  the  full 
warmth  of  the  sunlight.  On  many,  the  ban- 
dages were  witness  of  wounds  still  unhealed. 
Often  an  arm  was  lacking ;  often  a  leg. 

One  of  those  mutilated  in  the  latter  fashion 
first  drew  David's  particular  attention,  for 
the  cripple  stood  near  the  stockade,  looking 
up  toward  him.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
about  David's  age,  who,  under  a  happier 
fate,  would  just  now  have  been  in  his  prime. 


16  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

Like  David,  too,  lie  was  tall  and  straight, 
with,  massive  shoulders  and  a  mighty  chest. 
The  prisoner's  natural  attributes  of  strength 
made  more  conspicuous  the  pathos  of  his 
present  condition  with  wan,  drawn  face  and 
haggard  eyes  and  stooped  form  hunched  on 
the  support  of  the  crutches.  One  trouser 
leg  dangled  empty  from  the  knee. 

A  sudden  livelier  gust  of  wind  caught  the 
unfastened  canvas  curtain  on  the  side  of 
the  wagon  toward  the  stockade.  The  cloth 
was  lifted  and  thrown  back  over  the  frame- 
work, so  that  the  heaped  apples  showed 
plainly  above  the  side  of  the  box.  At  sight 
of  them,  the  cripple's  famished  face  lighted 
with  a  consuming  desire.  After  the  scant 
rations  of  sour  corn  bread  which  had  been 
practically  his  only  food  for  many  a  weary 
day,  the  ruddy  richness  of  the  fruit  was  tor- 
ture to  his  need.  He  cried  out  shrilly  in  a 
voice  that  quivered  from  the  intensity  of  his 
longing. 

"Hi,  mister!  Can't  ye  spare  one  of  your 
apples  to  a  poor  cuss,  who's  just  about 
starvin'?"  The  smile  that  went  with  the 
drawling  words  was  pitiful. 

The  look  in  the  fellow's  eyes  pierced  David 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  17 

to  the  soul.  The  thought  of  his  father  in 
desperate  need  like  this  moved  him  to  gen- 
erous action.  He  reached  quickly  over  the 
back  of  the  seat,  picked  up  an  apple,  and 
tossed  it  over  the  stockade  toward  the  crip- 
ple's eagerly  outstretched  hands. 

The  intended  kindness  was  of  no  avail. 
Another  of  the  prisoners,  who  was  standing 
near  at  hand,  had  been  watching  greedily. 
He,  like  all  others  in  that  place,  was  ragged 
and  forlorn  and  obviously  very  hungry.  He 
was  a  short,  wiry  individual  of  mature  age, 
with  the  chevrons  of  a  sergeant  still  showing 
on  his  coat-sleeves.  A  bristling  red  stubble  of 
beard  gave  him  an  appearance  of  fierceness. 
Now,  as  the  apple  flew  through  the  air  to- 
ward the  cripple,  he  whirled  and  sprang  with 
surprising  agility.  He  caught  the  apple,  and 
bit  into  it  avidly  almost  before  his  feet 
touched  the  ground.  Then  he  sauntered  off, 
shamefaced,  but  munching  voraciously. 

The  cries  of  indignation  that  had  broken 
from  David  and  the  cripple  simultaneously 
caused  the  other  prisoners  near  by  to  look  in 
the  direction  of  the  sounds.  A  single  glimpse 
of  the  apples  set  them  hurrying  toward  the 
stockade,   calling   out   in   supplication.     At 


18  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

first,  however,  David  gave  no  heed  to  these 
others.  His  heart  was  hot  with  wrath  against 
the  red-whiskered  thief  who  had  so  meanly 
despoiled  the  cripple  of  his  gift.  Neverthe- 
less, the  remedy  was  simple.  He  plucked 
another  apple  from  the  load  and  tossed  it 
over  the  stockade.  His  hasty  aim  fell  a  little 
short.  The  man  on  the  crntches  lurched  for- 
ward clumsily — too  late.  A  wobegone,  tot- 
tering relic  was  suddenly  galvanized  into  life, 
and  pounced  upon  the  spoil.  The  cripple 
rested  inert,  an  expression  of  hopeless  misery 
on  his  face.  David  felt  a  new  pang  of  grief 
for  this  sufferer  whom  as  yet  he  had  failed 
to  comfort.  He  was  hot  with  wrath  against 
those  who  had  thwarted  him.  Then,  in  an- 
other second,  as  his  ears  took  in  the  plead- 
ings of  the  men  massing  at  the  stockade,  his 
anger  died  and  gave  place  to  a  new  and 
broader  sympathy  for  these  stricken  ones. 
Yet,  he  was  by  no  means  unmindful  of  the 
first  to  win  his  interest.  He  was  indeed  more 
than  ever  determined  to  accomplish  his  pur- 
pose. To  that  end,  he  resorted  to  strategy. 
He  seized  a  double  handful  of  the  apples, 
and  tossed  them  to  either  side  of  the  cripple. 
While  the  soldiers  scrambled  for  these,  he 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL  19 

sent  over  two  others  so  nicely  directed  that 
the  cripple  easily  caught  both  in  his  cap. 
This  success  delighted  David,  and  his  de- 
light was  made  deeper  by  the  joy  that  shone 
in  the  man's  face  as  he  looked  up  and  smiled. 
A  warm  tide  of  benevolence  welled  high  in 
the  young  mountaineer's  bosom.  He  forgot 
that  these  men  here  before  him  were  his  ene- 
mies. He  remembered  only  their  need.  Their 
piteous  appeals  moved  him  to  a  reckless  im~ 
pulse  of  charity.  He  no  longer  thought  of  the 
business  entrusted  to  him  by  William  Swaim. 
His  sole  concern  was  to  assuage  to  the  full 
measure  of  his  ability  the  urgent  necessity 
of  these  famished  prisoners.  A  philan- 
thropic zeal  drove  him  on.  He  clambered 
over  the  seat  and  stood  among  the  apples, 
and  threw  the  canvas  side-flap  up  over  the 
framework  of  the  top.  Then,  without  any 
hesitation,  he  began  casting  the  apples  over 
the  stockade.  The  forlorn  captives  surged 
toward  the  barrier,  yelling  their  glee  over 
the  precious  food  that  rained  on  them  like 
manna  from  heaven.  David  hurled  his 
kindly  projectiles  from  both  hands,  fast  and 
furiously.  The  crowd  within  the  yard 
swirled  hither  and  yon,  following  the  flight 


\ 


20  THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL 

of  the  apples.  They  chattered  and  cursed 
and  laughed  in  an  abandon  of  fantastic  hap- 
piness over  this  break  in  the  horrible  routine 
of  their  imprisonment.  David  exulted  with 
them. 

Some  boys,  going  a-fishing,  halted  by  the 
wagon  to  stare  round-eyed  at  the  strange 
spectacle  of  this  young  man  with  the  hand- 
some face  and  flashing  eyes  and  long  black 
hair  flying  in  the  wind,  who  was  throwing 
these  great,  luscious  apples  so  wildly  over 
the  stockade,  from  behind  which  sounded  the 
roaring  acclamations  of  the  mob. 

"Say,  give  us  some,  suh!"  one  of  the  boys 
shouted. 

David  heard  the  treble  cry,  and  answered 
it. 

"Come  on  up  here,  an'  fill  your  pockets, 
an'  help  me  throw,"  he  commanded. 

On  the  instant,  the  boys  swarmed  about 
him,  first  filled  their  pockets,  and  then  gave 
themselves  merrily  to  this  new  sport  of  bom- 
barding the  enemy.  The  many  nimble  hands 
made  short  work  of  discharging  the  cargo. 
A  hail  of  apples  filled  the  air.  There  was 
joyous  rioting  among  the  prisoners,  who  just 
before  had  been  so  apathetic  in  their  wretch- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  21 

edness.  Now,  they  were  suddenly  bubbling 
over  with  liveliness,  romping  and  chuckling 
and  gloating — and  munching.  The  boys 
working  beside  David  squealed  gibes  at  their 
foes,  and  strove  to  catch  them  unawares  with 
apples  cunningly  aimed.  David  threw  no  less 
fiercely,  though  with  no  malicious  intent.  On 
the  contrary,  he  was  all  aflame  with  the  lust 
of  giving.  It  was  with  sharp  regret  that  he 
saw  the  last  apple  fly  over  the  palisade.  He 
gave  a  glance  down  at  the  emj)ty  wagon- 
box,  and  sighed.  He  made  a  gesture  of  dis- 
missal to  the  boys.  As  they  clambered  down 
from  the  wagon,  David  faced  the  mass  of 
prisoners  within  the  enclosure.  He  swung 
his  hands,  palms  out,  in  a  wide  gesture. 

" They're  all  gone,  boys!"  he  called.  The 
note  of  sorrow  in  his  voice  was  unmistakable. 

For  a  few  seconds,  a  tense  silence  rested 
on  the  ragamuffin  recipients  of  his  bounty. 
But,  in  another  moment,  the  grateful  men 
broke  into  cheers  that  grew  in  volume,  be- 
came a  thunderous  din  of  thanksgiving.  The 
paean  of  praise  was  a  wonderful  music  in  the 
ears  of  David — a  music  that  reached  to  his 
heart,  and  melted  it.  The  tears  of  a  pure 
happiness  misted  his  eyes.    He  nodded  stiffly 


22  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

in  acknowledgment  of  the  cheers,  and  then 
in  great  confusion  climbed  to  his  seat,  gath- 
ered up  the  reins,  and,  with  a  crack  of  the 
whip,  set  the  mules  jogging. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  whirl  of  emotion  continued  without 
change  until,  with  a  shock  of  surprise, 
David  looked  about  him  and  realized  that 
he  was  in  the  Salisbury  main  street.  He 
pulled  the  mules  to  a  halt  mechanically,  but 
did  not  move  from  his  place.  A  swift  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  battered  down  his  com- 
placent mood,  and  left  him  the  prey  of  mis- 
givings which  increased  in  intensity  from 
moment  to  moment.  At  last,  his  conscious- 
ness awoke  to  the  nature  of  his  act  in  yield- 
ing to  a  heedless  impulse.  He  perceived  that 
by  the  impetuousness  of  his  conduct  where 
he  had  meant  only  kindness  to  those  in  want 
he  had  actually  inflicted  wrong  on  the  man 
who  trusted  him.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of 
blank  despair  that  he  admitted  the  truth 
concerning  his  deed.  He  had  given  with 
noble  generosity.  Unfortunately,  the  gifts 
were  not  his  to  bestow.  The  supplies  for  his 
charity  had  been  stolen  from  William  Swaim. 
That  no  theft  had  been  intended  made  no 

23 


24  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

difference.  The  ugly  fact  remained.  The 
glow  of  satisfaction  was  gone  now.  In  its 
stead  came  a  chill  of  apprehension.  He 
shivered  with  dread  of  what  the  outcome 
might  be. 

David  slumped  in  his  seat,  and  groaned. 
His  dismay  was  abject.  But  he  made  a 
mighty  effort  to  regain  some  degree  of  cour- 
age in  the  face  of  the  disaster  he  had  so 
unwittingly  wrought.  He  reflected  that  at 
least  the  issue  need  not  be  faced  for  many 
hours  yet,  since  there  remained  a  long  drive 
homeward.  He  was  sure,  with  dismal  fore- 
boding, that  he  would  be  unable  to  sleep  the 
coming  night.  There  would  be  time  a  plenty 
for  consideration  and  decision  as  to  his 
course  while  he  lay  rolled  in  his  blanket  be- 
neath the  stars. 

Since  he  had  no  business  in  town,  thanks 
to  his  kindly  folly,  David  turned  the  mules, 
and  started  back  drearily  along  the  way  over 
which  he  had  come  with  such  high  hopes.  As 
he  passed  the  stockade,  he  held  his  eyes 
studiously  averted  from  the  scene  of  his  un- 
doing. But,  when  he  encountered  the  cara- 
van which  he  had  left  behind,  he  played  the 
hypocrite,  and  bragged  shamelessly  in  an- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  25 

swer  to  questions  concerning  the  quickness 
with  which  he  had  disposed  of  his  load. 

"Got  rid  of  'em  in  a  jiffy!"  he  announced 
quite  truthfully.  But  the  triumphant  smile 
that  accompanied  the  words  was  a  lie. 

Melancholy  drove  with  David  across  the 
miles.  His  brain  grew  weary  and  then  numb 
in  the  effort  to  devise  some  means  of  relief 
from  the  difficulty  of  his  position.  The  little 
money  left  with  him  by  his  father  had  been 
spent.  Though  Swaim  had  made  him  earn  a 
man's  wages,  there  had  been  no  contract  to 
pay  them,  and  there  was  no  slightest  like- 
lihood that  the  old  man  meant  to  expend  any 
money  unless  compelled  to  do  so.  Could  he 
have  paid  the  market  value  of  the  apples, 
the  arrangement  of  the  matter  would  have 
been  simple.  He  might  have  been  jeered  at 
for  the  sentimental  absurdity  of  his  per- 
formance, but  that  would  have  been  the  worst 
result.  There  would  have  been  no  question 
of  dishonor.  But  he  had  thrown  away  the 
property  of  another,  while  without  power  to 
make  good  his  fault  by  purchase.  Yes,  he 
was  undoubtedly  a  thief.  William  Swaim 
would  not  hesitate  to  call  him  just  that — a 
thief ! 


26  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

His  forebodings  were  justified,  for  that 
night  David  did  not  sleep.  Again  and  again, 
he  went  over  the  event  of  the  morning  with 
increasing  bitterness  against  himself.  But, 
in  the  course  of  his  unhappy  musings,  he  at 
last  seized  on  a  diversion  from  his  own  self- 
condemnation.  It  was  as  he  chanced  to  re- 
member the  little,  red-whiskered  man  whose 
greedy  selfishness  had  interfered  at  the  out- 
set when  the  first  apple  was  thrown,  and 
had  thus  been  the  actual  cause  of  the  catas- 
trophe that  followed.  David's  spirit  was 
filled  with  exceeding  bitterness  at  thought 
of  the  man.  The  feeling  increased  in  in- 
tensity until  it  was  very  near  hate.  It  com- 
forted him  in  some  degree  to  charge  another 
with  the  blame. 

An  inquisitive  opossum  came  cautiously 
nosing.  David  threw  a  pine  knot,  and  sent 
the  intruder  scurrying  away.  It  was  just 
as  the  first  dull  gray  of  the  coming  dawn 
lightened  the  purple  black  above  the  eastern 
hills.  And  it  was  in  this  moment  that  an 
inspiration  came  to  David.  He  smiled  grimly 
to  himself  in  the  darkness.  The  device  he 
had  hit  upon  was  palpably  flimsy.  He  was 
well  aware  that  it  by  no  means  met  the  re- 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  27 

quirements  of  his  case.  The  sole  merit  of 
the  idea  was  that  it  afforded  a  possible, 
though  by  no  means  plausible,  pretext  for 
self -justification.  Still  greatly  troubled,  but 
somewhat  consoled  by  the  fact  that  he  had  a 
defensive  plea  in  readiness,  David  break- 
fasted, and  hurried  the  mules  onward.  And 
now,  curiously  enough,  as  the  distance  short- 
ened, he  found  himself  thinking  less  and  less 
of  Swaim's  condemnation,  and  more  and 
more  of  what  Euth  might  feel  over  this  thing 
that  he  had  done.  Once  again,  too,  he  found 
himself  brooding  over  those  tremors  pro- 
voked in  him  by  Ruth's  last  kiss.  He  tasted 
a  flavor  in  the  remembrance.  His  pulse 
quickened,  with  a  tingling  in  the  blood.  A 
flush  showed  through  the  tan  of  his  cheeks. 
His  eyes  deepened  and  glowed.  And,  not- 
withstanding all  this,  he  did  not  quite  under- 
stand the  emotion  that  held  him  enthralled. 
It  was  still  early  morning,  for  he  had  sent 
the  mules  forward  at  a  smart  pace,  when 
David  swung  into  the  Swaim  farmyard. 
Euth  was  busy  at  the  milking,  squatting  on 
her  heels,  using  one  hand  only  on  the  teats 
and  holding  the  tin  cup  in  the  other,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  the  neighborhood.    Hear- 


28  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

ing  the  rattling  of  the  wagon,  she  hurried 
to  the  stable  door,  and  waved  a  hand  in  greet- 
ing. Then,  as  she  saw  her  father  come  out 
of  the  barn,  she  retreated,  for  she  was  not 
minded  to  have  any  witness  to  her  next  in- 
terview with  David. 

The  old  man's  cadaverous  face  was  con- 
torted to  lines  of  jubilation.  His  welcome 
was  unqualifiedly  genial. 

•'Wall,  Dave,  I  didn't  'low  V  see  ye  afore 
sundown,  an'  mos'  likely  not  till  atter  break- 
fast t'-morrer.  Ye  sure  must  be  some  kin 
t'  lightnin'.  Them  mules  don't  look  like 
they'd  turned  a  har."  As  David  threw  down 
the  reins  and  alighted  from  the  wagon, 
Swaim,  with  a  grin  of  anticipation,  stepped 
close,  and  extended  his  right  hand,  palm  up, 
in  readiness  to  receive  his  money  returns 
from  the  trip. 

"Thar  must  be  a  right  smart  o'  call  fer 
my  kind  o'  limber  twigs  in  Salisbury  these 
days,"  he  cackled  in  high  glee.  "Ye'd  bet- 
ter fix  t'  load  up  an'  go  right  thar  ag'in 
whilst  the  folks  is  buyin'  so  lively-like." 

David  held  himself  resolutely  erect,  and 
spoke  with  an  assumption  of  boldness  that 
he  was  far  from  feeling. 


THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL  29 

"Why,  Mr.  Swaim,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  as 
casual  as  he  could  muster,  "I  got  back  so 
quick  'cause  I  didn't  have  V  take  the  apples 
clean  through  t'  Salisbury.  I  found  a  cus- 
tomer on  the  rise  o'  the  hill  where  they 
keep  the  Yankees  that  all  look  so  powerful 
hungry.' '  He  forced  a  smile.  "The  feller 
what  bought  the  apples  stood  right  there  in 
the  schooner  an'  done  tossed  the  last  of  'em 
right  smack  over  that-there  punchin  fence 
while  those  poor  devils  scrambled  an'  fit  t' 
git  holt  onto  one."  A  flash  of  reminiscent 
enthusiasm  made  his  face  radiant.  "I  tell 
ye,  Mr.  Swaim,  it  was  wuth  twice  the  wuth 
o'  the  load  to  see  how  much  good  they  did 
them  starvin'  humans.  The  feller  what 
bought  'em  just  couldn't  he'p  it,  'cause  his 
heart  was  teched  by  sufferin'."  David 
gulped,  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  added 
firmly:  "That  feller  was  me.  I  hain't  nary 
cent  t'  pay  ye  fer  'em.  If  ye  won't  wait  till 
pap  gits  home  ag'in,  I'll  hunt  a  job  V  work 
it  out" 

William  Swaim 's  jaw  sagged,  and  he 
gaped  for  a  few  seconds  at  the  young  man, 
dumb  from  sheer  amazement  over  this  revela- 
tion.   Then,  presently,  as  his  mind  took  in 


30  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

the  full  enormity  of  David's  offense,  his  face 
grew  ashen,  and  he  trembled.  His  miserly 
soul  was  wrenched  by  the  loss  of  those  dol- 
lars he  had  hoped  to  fondle.  An  uncontrol- 
lable wrath  mounted  against  the  lad  who  had 
thus  betrayed  him.  His  watery,  red-rimmed, 
blinking  eyes  cleared  suddenly  and  flamed. 
He  strode  a  step  forward,  and  lifted  a 
clenched  fist. 

"Take  thet,  ye  damn'  thief I"  he  screamed. 
His  voice  came  shrill,  cracked  with  rage,  as 
he  struck  out  blindly. 

David  guarded  himself  against  the  attack, 
but  made  no  offensive  movement  in  return. 
He  was  in  the  full  of  his  strength,  while  the 
elder  man  was  old  for  his  years,  and  by  no 
means  strong.  The  youth  had  no  fear  of 
suffering  any  serious  injury  from  the  vicious 
assault,  and  so  limited  himself  to  defensive 
measures  in  which  he  was  successful  enough. 
He  had  no  wish  to  aggravate  his  fault  by 
thrashing  the  man  he  had  already  injured 
so  dolorously  in  the  pocketbook.  Moreover, 
he  could  not  forget  that  William  Swaim  was 
the  father  of  Ruth,  and  as  such  necessarily 
immune  from  violence  at  his  hands. 

Ruth,  having  just  finished  her  milking,  heard 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  31 

her  father's  shouted  words,  and  echoed  them 
with  a  stifled  shriek  of  alarm.  She  dropped 
the  cup  of  milk,  and  raced  toward  the  barn. 
She  was  just  in  time  to  see  her  father,  more 
than  ever  infuriated  by  his  failure  to  break 
down  David's  guard,  turn  and  leap  to  a 
pitchfork  lying  on  the  barn  floor.  Armed 
with  this  dangerous  weapon,  he  again  faced 
David.  Ruth  knew  well  the  peril  of  the 
moment,  for  she  was  aware  that  her  father 
possessed  a  temper  which,  though  usually 
controlled,  was  when  unleashed  a  madness 
that  knew  no  bounds.  The  pitchfork  was 
almost  at  her  breast  when  she  hurled  herself 
between  the  two  men,  and  cried  out  wildly 
to  her  father  to  stop. 

William  Swaim  halted,  a  dazed  expression 
on  his  face  at  the  unexpectedness  of  the  girl's 
intervention. 

"Oh,  pap,"  Ruth  gasped,  "ain't  you 
ashamed  of  acting  like  that  with  Dave — 
Dave  been  so  kind  and  helpful  to  us 

all!" 

The  old  man  was  checked,  but  the  wrath 
still  flared.  He  retorted  with  such  haste  that 
the  words  came  stammeringly. 

"He'pful!"  he  sneered.    "He's  a  thief — 


32  THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

thet's  what  he  is.  He  done  stole  my  apples, 
my  limber  twigs  what  meant  real  money  fer 
me.  An'  he's  wuss  nor  a  thief — he's  a  fool, 
plumb  daffy,  fer  he  says  he  done  fed  'em  t' 
the  Yank'  pris'ners  down  t'  Salisbury.  But 
I  don't  swaller  no  sech  lie  like  thet-thar. 
Nary  thief  kin  stuff  Bill  Swaim  thet-away 
s 'long's  he  loves  the  lady  on  the  dollar." 

The  outbreak  of  speech  had  served  as  a 
safety-valve  for  Swaim 's  fury.  David 
realized  that  the  father  would  not  assault 
him  further  in  the  daughter's  presence.  For 
the  time  being  at  least,  the  crisis  was  past. 
He  put  his  hands  on  Ruth's  shoulders,  and 
swung  her  about  to  face  him.  Even  in  this 
moment  of  stress,  he  noted  with  a  thrill  of 
new  delight  the  loveliness  of  her  flushed  face, 
the  splendor  of  the  violet  eyes  that  met  his 
so  steadfastly  and  so  loyally.  Then  his  lips 
twisted  to  a  whimsical  smile,  and  he  spoke 
in  a  tone  half  of  raillery,  half  of  serious- 
ness. 

"I'm  plumb  guilty,  Ruth,"  he  declared. 
"I'm  jest  that-there  fool  what  your  pap 
spoke  of.  But  I  done  stole  the  apples  t'  feed 
starvin'  humans — not  fer  love  o'  the  lady 
on  the  dollar. ' ' 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  33 

"Tell  me!"  Ruth  urged.  Both  she  and 
David  had  forgotten  William  Swaim,  who 
lowered  the  pitchfork  until  the  prongs 
touched  the  ground,  and  then  stood  leaning 
on  the  handle,  staring  malevolently  at  the 
young  man. 

David  told  his  story  with  great  earnest- 
ness. He  suddenly  felt  that  the  most  import- 
ant thing  in  the  world  was  to  make  Ruth 
understand  exactly  what  had  occurred. 
Nothing  else  mattered  if  only  he  could  retain 
her  good  opinion.  To  this  end  he  recounted 
his  adventure  in  detail  from  the  first  blowing 
back  of  the  canvas  flap  by  the  wind  through 
all  the  incidents  to  the  final  scene  with  her 
father.  And  through  it  all  Ruth  listened 
breathlessly,  at  the  outset  astounded  by  the 
extraordinary  happening,  soon  sympathetic, 
and  finally  happy  over  his  generous  im- 
pulse. 

Swaim,  too,  listened.  Somehow,  greatly  to 
his  surprise,  he  felt  his  anger  passing.  He 
forgot  in  part  his  sorely  wounded  avarice. 
Now  that  he  had  sustained  the  first  shock 
to  his  greed,  he  gave  ear  to  the  narrative 
with  a  curious  mingling  of  emotions.  Against 
his  will,  he  was  compelled  to  a  feeling  of 


34  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

admiration  for  this  lad  who  had  robbed  him 
in  a  fit  of  extravagant  generosity.  More- 
over, he  was  ashamed  now  that  he  had  let 
his  temper  so  master  him.  He  was  horror- 
struck  at  thought  of  what  he  might  have 
done,  had  Ruth  not  interposed  between  him 
and  his  mad  desire.  Remorse  gnawed  at 
his  heart.  Lest  he  reveal  the  softening  of  his 
spirit,  he  stealthily  moved  away,  and  passed 
out  of  sight  behind  the  barn. 

Ruth  and  David  took  no  note  of  Swaim's 
departure.  They  were  absorbed  in  each 
other,  and  in  the  story  the  young  man  told. 

As  he  ended,  the  girl  exclaimed  in  praise : 

i  l  Oh,  it  was  splendid  of  you,  Dave !  I  love 
you  for  it!" 

There  was  no  thought  now  of  the  embar- 
rassment created  between  them  by  that  last 
kiss  in  the  orchard.  She  threw  her  arms 
around  David's  neck,  and,  with  the  ease  of 
old  habit,  lifted  her  mouth  to  his,  and  kissed 
him. 

Even  in  the  act,  recollection  came  to  her, 
and  the  blood  flooded  her  cheeks.  She  would 
have  drawn  back,  but  it  was  too  late;  their 
lips  were  already  joined.  And  at  the  con- 
tact she  felt  a  vibrant  joy  that  eddied  in 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  35 

every  atom.  Thought  ceased.  There  was 
only  an  exquisite  rapture  that  pervaded  all 
her  being.  Her  senses  seemed  to  fail.  But 
nothing  mattered — only  the  bliss  singing  in 
her  heart.  David's  arms  were  like  bands  of 
steel  about  her,  holding  her  close,  so  close! 
as  if  he  would  never  let  her  go.  And  she 
had  no  wish  save  to  be  held  thus  always. 
His  lips  lay  on  hers  like  a  flame  that  thrilled 
through  the  flesh  to  warm  and  gladden  the 
soul. 

For  David  understood  at  last  the  mystery 
that  had  so  baffled  him.  In  that  second  when 
she  threw  herself  before  him  to  save  him 
from  her  father's  frenzy  his  heart  had 
leaped  in  an  emotion  deeper  and  sweeter  and 
nobler  by  far  than  gratitude.  He  recog- 
nized that  emotion  for  what  it  was — the  love 
of  a  woman,  concerning  which  hitherto  he 
had  only  guessed  crudely.  The  very  intimacy 
through  all  the  years  of  adolescence  between 
him  and  Ruth  had  served  to  prevent  his 
thinking  of  her  as  other  than  a  sister,  a 
comrade.  Now,  however,  he  knew  her  for 
the  concrete  verity  of  vaguely  tender  rev- 
eries. She  was  the  one  woman.  He  held 
her  crushed  to  his  bosom,  and  his  lips  were 


36  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

eager.  He  was  exultant,  masterful  in  the 
joy  of  possession.  He  loved  her,  and  he 
knew  that  she  loved  him.  Her  lips  told  him 
that  in  silence.  Nothing  else  in  the  universe 
mattered  at  all. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AFTER  a  long  interval,  the  lovers  drew 
apart.  They  glanced  about  them  with 
a  guilty  air,  and  were  relieved  that  no  one 
was  observing  them.  They  were  both  very 
happy,  but,  too,  after  the  period  of  abandon- 
ment, they  were  now  a  little  confused  and 
embarrassed  toward  each  other,  made  self- 
conscious  by  the  bigness  of  this  thing  that 
had  developed  in  their  lives  with  such  amaz- 
ing suddenness. 

It  was  David  who  first  returned  to  prosaic 
thought.  His  gaze  chanced  to  fall  on  the 
empty  wagon.  The  sight  of  it  brought  back 
to  memory  the  evil  fashion  in  which  Swaim 
had  reviled  him  as  a  thief.  The  radiance  of 
his  face  vanished.  In  its  place  came  a  somber 
darkening.  His  eyes  hardened,  and  his  lips 
set  in  lines  of  grim  determination. 

"I've  gotter  git  out,"  he  said  curtly  to 
Ruth,  who  stared  at  him  in  astonishment 
over  the  abrupt  change  in  his  manner.    His 

37 


38  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

voice  was  gentle,  but  held  a  stern  note  of 
resolve. 

"Why,  what  do  yon  mean,  Dave?"  the 
girl  asked  anxiously. 

"I  must  git  out  o'  here  tonight,"  was  the 
answer.  "I'm  goin'  somewhere  t'  earn  a 
bit  o'  money  fer  a  bill  I'm  owin'  t'  William 
Swaim. ' ' 

"No,  no!"  Ruth  remonstrated.  Her  heart 
sickened  at  the  thought  that  she  must  lose 
this  lover  whom  she  had  only  just  found. 

David  shook  his  head  obstinately,  and  the 
firmly  modeled  chin  was  thrust  forward  a 
little. 

"There's  no  two  ways  about  it,"  he  de- 
clared. "It  will  be  powerful  hard  t'  leave 
ye,  Ruth,  just  after  we've  got  t'  be  sweet- 
hearts, but  it  can't  be  helped.  I  can't  thrash 
yer  pap,  Ruth — jest  'cause  he's  an  old  man, 
an'  cause  he's  yer  pap.  An'  if  I  can't  lick 
him,  why,  I  just  naturally  gotter  pay  him  fer 
them  apples."  His  face  lightened  a  little 
as  he  smiled  wryly.  "  T '  pay  him  I  got  t '  git 
money,  an'  t'  git  money  I  got  t'  git  out  o' 
here." 

"I  know  pap  better  than  you  do,  Dave," 
Ruth  argued.    She  was  eager  to  change  his 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  39 

decision,  even  though  an  instinct  told  hor 
that  her  hope  was  in  vain.  "  Pappy  has  an 
awful  temper,  and  he's  pretty  close.  He 
just  flew  offl  the  handle,  and  didn't  know 
what  he  was  doing.  He's  all  over  his  mad 
by  now,  and  mighty  ashamed  of  himself. 
And,  anyhow,  he  knows  you're  good  for  the 
money.    'Tisn't  as  if  your  father  was  poor." 

David  shook  his  head  once  again. 

"My  pap's  money  ain't  any  help,  'cause 
there's  no  way  fer  me  t'  git  hold  of  any  of 
it  till  he  comes  back  from  that-there  prison 
up  North.  Ye  see,  Ruth,  I  ain't  hankerin' 
t'  'company  none  with  Bill  Swaim  till  I  pay 
him  an'  prove  I  ain't  the  damn'  thief  what 
he  called  me."  There  was  a  tone  of  finality 
in  the  utterance,  which  the  girl  recognized. 
She  yielded  to  it,  though  bitterly  reluctant. 

"When  will  you  go,  Dave?"  she  inquired, 
almost  timidly. 

"Sometime  in  the  night,"  David  replied; 
"like  a  thief  should."  He  disregarded 
Ruth's  protest.  "An'  don't  ye  breathe  a 
word  about  it  t'  yer  pap  er  yer  mammy." 

"But  if  I  told  pappy,  he  might — "  Ruth 
began. 

David  interrupted  her. 


40  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

"Not  a  word  t'  yer  pap,  Ruth,"  he  com- 
manded. The  girl  yielded,  though  somewhat 
grudgingly. 

"I  suppose  I  must  do  as  you  say,"  she 
pouted.  "Wherever  do  you  'low  to  go, 
Dave?"  There  was  a  tremor  of  curiosity  in 
her  voice,  and  she  added  pleadingly:  "Oh, 
don't  go  far  away,  dear!" 

The  young  man  regarded  her  with  great 
tenderness. 

"Not  a  mite  further  than  I  have  t',"  he 
declared.  "I  ain't  noways  pinin'  t'  be  shet 
o'  ye,  Ruth.  An'  ye  can  bet  that  I'll  come 
back  a-runnin'  the  first  chance  I  git." 

The  conversation  ended  in  new  caresses 
between  the  lovers,  which  left  them  palpitat- 
ing with  happiness,  the  more  intense  because 
it  had  for  a  background  the  shadow  of  a 
parting  so  soon  to  come. 

Throughout  his  work  that  day,  David's 
brain  was  teeming  with  contradictory  plans 
concerning  the  direction  his  journey  should 
take.  He  decided  after  long  considera- 
tion that  his  best  hope  of  speedy  success 
with  the  undertaking  would  lie  in  following 
the  Yadkin  River  down  to  Georgetown  in 
South  Carolina,  where  in  all  probability  em- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL         41 

ployment  might  be  found.  Or  perhaps  lie 
might  strike  across  inland  from  Georgetown 
to  Charleston,  on  the  coast,  where  the  op- 
portunity would  be  still  greater. 

No  words  were  passed  between  David  and 
Swaim  at  meals.  Mrs.  Swaim,  whose  deli- 
cate face  showed  the  ravages  wrought  by  the 
sorrows  of  an  uncongenial  marriage,  be- 
trayed by  her  nervous  manner  that  she  knew 
of  what  had  occurred  between  the  two  men, 
but  neither  she  nor  her  daughter  made  any 
reference  to  Davids  trip  to  Salisbury  or  its 
unfortunate  outcome.  After  supper  Ruth 
found  an  opportunity  to  speak  alone  with 
David  in  the  orchard  where  he  had  gone  to 
smoke  his  pipe. 

"You're  really  going  to-night  V9  she 
queried,  when  they  had  kissed  each  other. 

"Yes,"  David  answered  simply.  He  ex- 
plained to  her  his  purpose  of  going  down 
the  river  in  his  skiff.  "I'll  slip  away  as 
soon  as  the  old  folks  are  asleep,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"I'll  make  you  a  package  of  provisions," 
the  girl  promised.  There  came  a  ripple  of 
laughter.  "Pappy  won't  know.  Mammy 
will,  but  she  won't  mind.    She'll  be  glad." 


42  THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

The  girl  was  serious  again  now.  "Mammy 
likes  you,  Dave." 

The  lover  was  a  bit  confused  by  this  in- 
direct praise.  He  spoke  sheepishly,  but  with 
sincerity. 

"Yer  mammy's  a  fine  woman." 

But  Ruth,  though  usually  a  dutiful  daugh- 
ter and  affectionate,  was  not  now  interested 
in  her  mother's  excellence.  Her  whole  in- 
terest was  absorbed  by  this  being  who  had 
been  her  playfellow  and  intimate  companion 
for  years,  yet  to-day  was  revealed  to  her 
as  a  stranger — the  lover  whom  she  adored 
and  whom,  because  he  was  her  lover,  she 
did  not  feel  that  she  knew  at  all.  The 
mystery  of  the  new  relation  fascinated  her. 
And  by  so  much  as  there  was  charm  in  the 
present  relation  by  so  much  there  was  grief 
at  thought  of  the  coming  separation. 

"I'll  bring  the  package  of  rations  down 
to  the  boat,"  she  said.  "I'll  have  it  ready 
for  you  by  ten  o'clock."  She  regarded  him 
accusingly  as  if  she  had  subconsciously  de- 
tected in  his  mind  some  idea  of  evasion. 
"Don't  you  dare  to  go  before  I  get  there." 

And  David  assured  her  that  he  would  not, 
and  ratified  the  pledge  with  many  kisses. 


THE  HOMEWABD  TRAIL.         43 

They  were  not  night-owls  in  the  Swaim 
household.  By  nine  o'clock  all  had  gone  to 
bed — ostensibly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Swaim 
and  his  wife  had  duly  retired,  and  had  al- 
most immediately  fallen  asleep.  David  and 
Ruth,  however,  were  wide-awake.  On  going 
to  his  room  after  supper,  the  young  man  at 
once  busied  himself  with  the  modest  prepara- 
tions for  departure.  It  was  indeed  a  simple 
matter  to  pack  in  his  carpet-bag  the  few 
articles  of  a  very  limited  wardrobe.  "When 
his  preparations  had  been  completed,  he  sat 
down  by  the  window,  and  comforted  himself 
with  a  pipe  while  awaiting  the  lapse  of  time 
sufficient  to  insure  sound  sleep  on  the  part 
of  the  elder  Swaims.  Finally  he  struck  a 
match  and  saw  by  the  flare  that  his  watch 
marked  almost  ten  o'clock.  Carrying  his 
shoes  in  one  hand,  and  the  carpet-bag  in  the 
other,  with  his  rifle  in  the  crook  of  the  arm, 
he  crept  out  of  the  room  in  his  stockinged 
feet,  and  made  his  way  with  as  little  noise  as 
possible  over  the  board  flooring  that  creaked 
alarmingly  under  his  weight,  past  the  bed- 
room door  through  which  sounded  William 
Swaim 's  raucous  snores  and  the  softer 
breathing  of  the  woman,  and  on  down  the 


44  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

stairs.  He  entered  the  lean-to  kitchen,  and 
felt  his  way  through  the  darkness  to  the 
pantry  door,  which  stood  ajar.  He  whis- 
pered Ruth's  name.  There  was  no  answer, 
and  he  guessed  that  the  girl  had  finished  her 
task  already,  and  had  gone  on  before  him 
down  to  the  river.  He  was  confirmed  in  this 
belief,  when,  after  recrossing  the  kitchen,  he 
found  the  back  door  standing  half-open. 
Sure  that  he  would  find  her  waiting  for  him 
by  the  boat,  he  went  out  into  the  night. 

After  the  dense  dark  within  the  house,  the 
night  seemed  well  lighted  with  starlight 
streaming  from  the  cloudless  heavens  and 
the  golden  glory  of  the  hunter's  moon.  The 
tension  under  which  David  had  been  acting 
was  suddenly  relaxed  as  he  felt  the  spell 
of  the  night's  serenity.  The  hush  of  an  in- 
finite peace  encompassed  him,  and  for  a  long 
minute,  he  stood  motionless,  yielding  to  the 
charm  of  it.  A  tang  of  autumn  chill  was  in 
the  air.  The  young  man  filled  his  lungs  with 
a  deep  breath,  which  at  once  soothed  and 
stimulated  him.  Then,  abruptly,  his  thoughts 
veered  to  the  girl  who  waited  for  his  com- 
ing by  the  river.  Now,  as  he  looked  on  the 
still  splendors  of  the  night,  he  saw  them  as 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  45 

the  fit  setting  for  the  loveliness  of  Ruth.  In- 
stantly, he  was  impatient  to  be  with  her, 
and  set  off  running  lightly  down  the  lane 
that  led  to  the  river.  He  covered  the  quarter 
of  a  mile  quickly.  As  he  drew  near  where 
the  skiff  was  moored,  the  girl  caught  a 
glimpse  of  him. 

"Dave?"  she  called  questioningly.  There 
was  a  hint  of  anxiety  underlying  the  music 
in  the  soft  utterance,  which  David,  in  his 
happier  mood,  missed  altogether. 

"Supplies  all  stored  aboard,  eh?"  he  ques- 
tioned in  his  turn,  by  way  of  answer. 

Ruth  tried  rather  unsuccessfully  to  meet 
his  gayety  in  kind. 

' '  Ay,  ay,  sir, ' '  she  replied  briskly.  ' '  Ship  's 
fully  provisioned  for  the  voyage,  captain." 
Despite  her  effort,  the  words  came  quavering 
a  little.  And  now  David  perceived  the  dis- 
tress she  was  striving  to  conceal.  He  swept 
her  into  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  many 
times. 

"Ye  mustn't  be  unhappy,  Ruth,"  he  com- 
manded with  a  gentleness  that  was  none  the 
less  authoritative.  "I  couldn't  bear  t'  think 
o'  ye  mournin'  here  while  I'm  out  there  in 
the  world." 


46  THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL 

The  girl  understood  that  he  had  no  thought 
of  giving  up  his  purpose  to  save  her  from 
grief.  The  idea  had  not  even  occurred  to 
him.  She  called  it  to  his  attention,  but  quite 
hopelessly. 

"Can't  you  stay  with  me,  Dave?"  she 
asked,  and  in  the  inflection  of  the  words  was 
a  prayer  that  he  would. 

Dave  spoke  sternly. 

"I've  done  got  t'  square  my  debt  t'  yer 
pap.  There  ain  't  no  other  way. ' '  His  voice 
softened,  and  he  held  the  girl  closer  as  he 
went  on  speaking:  "But  I'll  be  a-pinin'  fer 
you-all,  Ruth,  all  the  time  I'm  away.  An' 
it'll  seem  a  mighty  long  time,  too." 

"You  don't  reckon  it  will  really  be  very 
long,  do  you,  Dave?"  the  girl  asked,  with  a 
pathetic  inflection  of  dismay  at  the  sugges- 
tion. 

' '  Shucks !  No,  o '  course  not.  'Twon  't  take 
scarcely  any  time  wuth  mentionin'  t'  earn 
enough  t'  pay  fer  them  cussed  limber  twigs. 
An'  the  minute  I  git  a  holt  on  the  money, 
I'll  come  a-runnin'.  An'  I  won't  be  scramb- 
lin'  back  so  all-fired  fast  jest  fer  the  sake 
o'  seein'  yer  pap  ag'in.  It's  you-all  my  eyes 
an'  my  lips  will  be  achin'  fer."    He  kissed 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  47 

her  liair  very  gently,  again  and  again.  The 
perfume  of  it  was  like  incense  to  him.  The 
parting  so  near  at  hand  pained  him,  but  he 
felt  that  he  must  not  give  way  to  his  own 
sorrow,  since  she  must  need  his  greater 
strength  to  comfort  her  in  her  womanly 
weakness.  He  patted  her  back  in  a  clumsy 
effort  to  console. 

Ruth  stood  clinging  to  him  with  her  head 
buried  in  his  bosom.  She  was  crying  softly, 
with  little  muffled  sobs.  This  separation  was 
to  her  a  very  terrible  thing.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  its  coming  thus  immediately  after 
their  mutual  confession  of  love  made  it  all 
the  more  dreadful.  There  had  been  no  time 
to  realize  the  intercommunion  of  their  hearts 
before  a  cruel  fate  interposed  to  thrust  them 
apart.  Even  had  matters  stood  merely  on 
the  former  friendly  footing  between  them, 
she  must  have  found  the  abrupt  departure 
of  David  a  cause  for  suffering.  Now,  since 
the  intimacy  between  them  had  developed 
into  a  mutual  passion,  she  was  stricken  to 
the  soul  that  the  man  she  loved  should  go 
from  her  and  leave  her  in  desolate  loneliness. 

Ruth  ceased  weeping  after  a  time,  though 
she  had  heard  but  dully  the  murmured  en- 


48         THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

couragement  and  endearments  with  which 
David  sought  to  cheer  her  flagging  spirits. 
The  change  in  her  was  due  chiefly  to  a  sudden 
thought  that  the  expression  of  her  despair 
would  tend  to  make  her  lover  too  unhappy. 
So,  with  the  instinct  of  self-sacrifice  that  is 
natural  to  the  fond  woman,  she  used  all  her 
strength  of  will  to  cast  off  the  external  signs 
of  depression  in  order  that  she  might  not 
inspire  melancholy  in  David  when  he  most 
required  courage  for  his  adventuring  out 
into  the  world.  She  raised  her  face  and  gave 
him  kiss  for  kiss,  and  joyous  words  of  love 
and  trust.  The  young  man  responded  gladly. 
He  spoke  with  confidence  of  the  future,  of 
his  hopes  for  a  speedy  return  to  her  arms, 
of  the  perfect  life  they  would  live  together 
through  the  long  years  to  come. 

It  was  midnight  when  the  last  farewell 
was  spoken  between  them,  and  David  pushed 
the  skiff  from  the  shore,  and  let  it  swing  into 
the  current  of  the  river.  The  girl  stood 
tense  in  restraint  on  the  land,  peering  with 
dilated  eyes  to  detect  the  final  bit  of  shadow 
moving  over  the  water,  which  gave  the  vague 
outline  of  the  man  she  loved.  And  David, 
looking  back  as  the  boat  drifted  slowly  down 


THE  HOMEWARD  TEAIL  49 

the  stream,  held  his  gaze  fast  to  that  gray 
silhouette,  dimly  seen  beneath  the  moon- 
light on  the  shore,  which  was  Euth — Ruth, 
his  sweetheart !  Then,  presently,  the  ghostly 
figure  vanished  in  the  mist-wraiths,  to  be 
seen  no  more.  A  pang  of  infinite  loneliness 
pierced  David's  breast  as  the  vision  of  the 
girl  faded  from  his  view.  For  long  moments 
he  sat  brooding,  disconsolate  and  rebellious 
over  the  destiny  that  tore  him  from  her. 
But,  presently,  the  peace  of  the  night  touched 
him  again  with  its  benediction,  and  his  sor- 
row fell  from  him.  His  fancy  turned  to  the 
adventure  that  awaited  him  in  the  coming 
days.  He  bent  to  the  oars  and  sent  the  skiff 
forward  with  long  steady  strokes.  And  as 
he  sped  on  through  the  night,  he  was  no 
longer  lonely,  for  he  was  companied  with 
his  dreams. 


CHAPTER  V 

FOR  some  hours  David  rowed  steadily, 
though  with  a  leisurely  stroke.  But 
on  passing  beyond  that  portion  of  the  river 
most  familiar  to  him,  he  gave  over  rowing, 
and  with  an  oar  for  rudder,  was  content  to 
let  the  skiff  float  lazily  with  the  sluggish 
current.  He  chose  this  method  of  journeying 
not  so  much  to  escape  fatigue  as  for  the 
sake  of  caution.  The  waters  of  the  winding 
stream  were  usually  shallow,  and  although 
his  craft  was  flat-bottomed  with  a  draft  of 
only  a  few  inches,  it  was  necessary  to  steer 
with  care  to  avoid  driving  on  one  of  the  pro- 
jecting rocks.  So,  the  progress  was  slow,  yet 
made  with  a  luxurious  ease  that  suited  the 
traveler's  mood  and  left  him  free  for  pleas- 
ant reverie.  There  was  something  almost 
hypnotic  in  that  silent,  stately  floating  over 
the  velvet  dark  surface,  between  serried 
sentinel  ranks  of  poplars  and  sycamores, 
which  lined  either  shore.    The  moon  dropped 

50 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  51 

toward  the  western  horizon  so  that  the  boat 
moved  within  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  trees, 
and  David  guided  it  almost  by  instinct  rather 
than  by  sight.  The  moon  dipped  lower 
swiftly  and  set.  The  scene  became  weird;  a 
vague  and  melancholy  vista.  A  breeze 
sprang  up  before  the  dawn.  The  air  grew 
colder,  so  that  David  felt  the  dank  chill  of 
it,  and  shivered.  He  shook  off  the  sense  of 
oppression  that  crept  upon  his  spirits,  and 
determined  to  make  camp  on  shore. 

He  sent  the  boat  rustling  through  the 
reeds  that  opposed  their  frail  barrier  be- 
tween the  channel  and  the  bank.  The  skiff's 
bow  lifted  and  slid  up  easily  on  a  sandy 
beach.  David  clambered  out.  His  move- 
ments were  stiff  at  first  from  his  hours  of 
sitting  during  the  cool  night.  But,  very  soon, 
his  blood  quickened  its  flow,  his  muscles  be- 
came warm  and  supple  again.  His  simple 
preparations  were  speedily  made.  The  boat 
was  uptilted  on  its  side,  propped  in  position 
by  the  oars,  to  serve  as  a  wind-break.  He 
did  not  trouble  to  cook  a  meal,  but  was  satis- 
fied with  a  few  mouthf uls  of  cold  meat.  Then 
he  rolled  himself  snugly  in  his  blanket,  and 
almost  within  the  second  was  fast  asleep. 


52  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

The  sun  was  hours  high  when  finally  David 
stirred,  yawned  noisily,  stretched  his  muscles 
until  the  joints  crackled  in  protest,  and  sat 
up.  His  mood  was  harmonious  with  the  joy- 
ous day,  and  he  felt  a  cheerful  readiness  to 
fare  forward  on  his  quest.  He  was  beset 
with  a  ravenous  hunger,  and  hurried  the 
preparation  of  hot  food  from  his  store  of 
corn  meal,  bacon  and  coffee.  Then,  replete, 
he  resumed  his  journey. 

For  three  days,  David  followed  the  course 
of  the  river  at  his  ease.  By  night  he  would 
lie  up  in  some  sheltered  nook  on  the  bank, 
and  by  day  he  would  drift  with  the  current, 
rowing  only  occasionally  in  the  more  open 
and  level  stretches  of  water.  The  weather 
held  fair,  so  that  he  suffered  no  discomfort 
from  this  source.  The  food  supplies  were 
ample  for  his  needs,  and  he  added  to  them 
with  game  that  fell  to  his  rifle.  Flocks  of 
wild  duck  and  geese  were  frequent.  Often 
as  he  rounded  a  bend  of  the  river  he  would 
find  them  clustered  thick  before  him.  More 
than  once  his  bullet  caught  a  green-headed 
mallard  before  it  could  rise  into  the  air. 

It  was  on  the  third  day,  when  he  had 
traversed  a  distance  of  perhaps  seventy-five 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  53 

miles  from  the  Swaim  homestead,  that  David, 
at  nightfall,  drew  near  the  city  of  Salisbury. 
Though  unfamiliar  with  the  river  itself  in 
this  direction,  he  was  able  to  recognize  his 
surroundings  by  certain  landmarks.  Chief 
among  these  was  the  stockade  of  the  Con- 
federate prison,  which  loomed  through  the 
gloaming,  sinister  and  hideous,  on  the  higher 
ground  above  the  river.  The  sight  of  it,  thus 
vaguely  seen  at  dusk,  touched  the  adven- 
turer's spirit  with  an  unreasoning  bitter- 
ness. He  was  not  in  the  least  repentant  for 
what  he  had  done  here  in  a  flush  of  generous 
enthusiasm.  But  just  now  he  keenly  re- 
gretted the  miles  that  lay  between  him  and  the 
girl  he  loved.  Here  was  the  cause  of  their 
separation,  and  he  loathed  it  accordingly. 
Then,  inevitably,  his  thought  jumped  to  the 
red-whiskered  man,  who  had  been  first  to 
rob  the  cripple,  and  thereby  had  precipitated 
the  catastrophe.  David  felt  a  flare  of  fury 
against  this  fellow,  as  he  had  before  while 
returning  from  Salisbury.  Now,  however, 
his  feeling  was  even  fiercer,  for  this  con- 
scienceless rogue  by  his  theft  had  come  be- 
tween the  lovers.  A  surge  almost  of  hatred 
swept  up  in  the  lad's  bosom.     His  fingers 


54  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

twitched  convulsively,  as  if  lie  longed  to  be 
at  grips  with  the  man,  to  thrash  into  him 
some  sense  of  decency  in  his  conduct  toward 
cripples. 

A  faint,  bell-like  rhythm  came  down  on  the 
breeze.  It  seemed  to  issue  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  stockade,  and  moment  by  moment 
it  grew  louder.  David  knew  the  sound,  and 
his  pulse  quickened.  He  had  meant  to  push 
on  to  the  ferry  landing  a  little  way  below, 
where  the  flat-bottomed  scow  was  still  poled 
across  the  stream,  when  any  traveler  blew 
a  summons  on  the  tin  horn.  He  had  intended 
to  camp  there  for  the  night,  and  thence  to 
walk  the  two  miles  into  Salisbury  next  morn- 
ing, to  inquire  for  possible  news  of  his 
father.  But  now  he  forgot  the  swift  ap- 
proach of  night  in  this  new  interest  in  the 
sound  borne  to  his  ears  by  the  wind.  With 
a  thrust  of  his  steering  oar  he  turned  the 
skiff's  bow  to  the  shore.  The  bank  here  was 
high  and  steep,  and  the  current  ran  swiftly. 
He  caught  hold  of  an  out-jutting  branch 
from  a  birch  that  grew  on  the  shore,  and  so 
held  the  boat  from  being  swept  on.  The 
rhythmic  booming  noise  sounded  more 
loudly.    It  was  the  baying  of  hounds. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  55 

The  instinct  of  the  chase  set  David  quiver- 
ing with  excitement.  What  the  quarry  of 
the  dogs  might  be  he  had  no  means  of  know- 
ing, but  he  guessed  that  they  must  be  on  the 
trail  of  either  a  fox  or  a  deer.  He  hoped 
that  it  might  be  the  latter.  His  mouth 
watered  at  the  possibility  of  venison  broiled 
over  the  coals  for  supper.  Still  keeping  the 
skiff  in  position  by  his  grip  on  the  bough, 
he  seized  the  rifle  with  his  right  hand  in 
readiness  for  instant  action  if  the  prey 
should  come  his  way.  Thus  prepared,  he 
stood  poised,  listening  intently. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  chase 
was  drawing  nearer.  There  seemed  every 
likelihood  that  the  fleeing  creature  w^as  striv- 
ing to  reach  the  river  in  a  last  desperate 
effort  to  escape  its  pursuers.  The  light 
was  going  fast  now,  but  in  the  open  space 
of  the  river  it  was  still  sufficient  to  afford 
a  fair  aim. 

A  crackling  sound  came  from  the  under- 
brush that  covered  the  shore.  The  noise  of 
it  increased.  David  wondered  at  the  volume 
of  it.  Even  a  stag  running  its  swiftest  could 
hardly  go  crashing  like  that.  It  was  head- 
ing   straight    for    him,    too — whatever    the 


56  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

thing  might  be.  He  still  hoped  it  would 
prove  to  be  a  deer,  although  he  doubted. 
The  floundering  body  bursting  through  the 
thickets  was  almost  upon  him.  He  knew  that 
in  another  second,  unless  pulled  down  by  the 
dogs,  it  must  break  from  the  concealment 
of  the  woods.  It  was  so  close  that  there 
could  be  no  danger  of  losing  his  opportunity 
by  letting  the  boat  drift,  and  he  must  have 
both  hands  for  the  shot.  He  loosened  his 
clutch  on  the  branch,  the  skirl  dropped  down 
the  river.  Even  as  it  moved  with  the  cur- 
rent, there  was  a  final  clatter  of  broken 
boughs  at  the  edge  of  the  high  bank.  A 
bulky  something  leaped  from  the  shadows 
there,  and  hurtled  forward  in  a  long  arc 
toward  the  water.  And  in  that  same  second 
when  the  boat  began  to  move,  David's  rifle 
sprang  to  his  shoulder,  and  his  eyes  lined 
the  sights  on  the  thing  chased  by  the  dogs. 
But  the  weapon  did  not  belch  its  deadly 
missile.  Instead,  a  gasping  cry  of  horror 
broke  from  David's  lips;  his  forefinger  fell 
from  the  trigger  as  if  palsied. 

"Good  God!  an'  I  almost  got  him!" 

He  shuddered,  and  felt  a  nausea. 

"It's  a  man — an'  I  almost  got  him!     I 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  57 

might  have  killed  him!  It  was  a  powerful 
close  squeak.  An'  I  thought  I  was  jest  a-gun- 
nm'  fer  supper!" 

David  sat  staring  in  fascinated  horror  at 
the  man  who  had  thus  escaped  the  trailing 
of  the  hounds,  which  now  whimpered  their  dis- 
tress from  the  shore.  The  fugitive  had  gone 
beneath  the  surface  at  his  plunge.  "When  he 
reappeared,  spluttering,  he  started  swim- 
ming at  full  speed  toward  the  farther  bank 
of  the  river,  fifty  yards  away.  But  the  shock 
of  the  cold  water  put  too  great  a  strain  on 
his  body,  weakened  and  overheated  as  he  was 
by  his  flight  from  the  hounds.  Suddenly,  he 
uttered  a  shrill  cry,  threw  up  his  hands,  and 
sank. 

The  skiff,  unchecked,  had  floated  a  con- 
siderable distance  down  stream.  David  was 
too  far  aAvay  to  give  immediate  succor.  But 
he  lost  no  time  before  acting.  In  a  moment 
he  had  dropped  the  rifle,  and  the  oars  were 
placed.  He  tested  their  strength  in  short, 
jumping  strokes  that  sent  the  boat  swiftly 
toward  where  the  body  must  be  swept  along 
in  the  current. 

It  was  the  shallowness  of  the  stream  that 
gave  David  the  chance  of  rescue.    He  caught 


58  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

a  glimpse  over  his  shoulder  of  the  drown- 
ing man's  form  being  swept  over  a  sand 
strip  hardly  submerged.  He  was  able  to 
bring  the  skiff  alongside  before  reaching 
deeper  water,  which  would  have  made  his 
task  difficult,  if  not  impossible.  He  dropped 
his  oars,  and  caught  the  half-unconscious 
man  by  the  shirt  collar.  When  he  had  se- 
cured a  safe  grip  under  the  arms,  he  was 
able  to  get  the  fugitive  aboard,  thanks  to 
the  steadiness  of  his  clumsy  flat-bottomed 
skiff.  This  accomplished,  he  stretched  the 
victim  face  downward,  supported  by  a 
thwart  under  his  belly,  and  proceeded  first 
to  empty  him  of  the  water  and  then  to  re- 
store him  to  full  consciousness  by  such  vigor- 
ous methods  as  he  knew.  The  treatment 
was,  in  fact,  remarkably  efficacious,  so  that 
within  a  few  minutes,  the  man,  after  a  final 
bit  of  strangling,  aroused  to  consciousness 
with  a  piteous  appeal  for  mercy  from  further 
ministrations. 

David,  greatly  pleased  with  this  result, 
lifted  the  fellow  and  turned  him,  so  that  he 
was  in  a  sitting  position.  It  was  then,  with 
his  face  close  to  that  of  the  man  he  had  pulled 
from  the  river,  that  David  saw  the  features 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  59 

clearly.  At  sight  of  them  he  started  back 
with  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"You!"  he  grunted  savagely. 

The  irony  of  fate  had  made  him  the  rescuer 
of  the  one  man  in  the  world  against  whom 
he  cherished  a  grudge.  He  felt  bitterly  to- 
ward William  Swaira,  who  had  called  him  a 
thief.  But  he  knew  the  justification  for  the 
old  man's  anger,  and  the  fact  that  it  was 
due  to  his  own  fault  kept  him  from  nourish- 
ing resentment.  That  fault  on  his  part, 
however,  had  come  as  the  direct  effect  of 
another  man's  mean  action.  The  red- whisk- 
ered Union  prisoner,  who  had  stolen  the 
first  apple  meant  for  the  cripple,  was  the 
real  cause  of  all  the  trouble.  David  had 
cursed  that  greedy  prisoner  often.  Now  he 
cursed  once  again,  for  it  was  the  red- 
whiskered  individual  whom  he  had  just  saved 
from  drowning  and  who  now  sat  before  him, 
gasping  and  shivering  from  his  immersion 
in  the  chill  stream.  The  young  man  made  no 
secret  of  his  feeling,  but  let  his  mood  gush 
forth  in  stinging  words. 

"Ye  thievin',  hard-hearted  Yank'!  As  if 
ye  hadn't  given  me  trouble  'nough  a 'ready. 
Te'r'  a  plumb-ornery  scallywag,   a-stealin' 


60  THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

the  apple  I  done  throwed  t'  a  cripple.  I 
ain't  aimin'  t'  save  sicli  as  you-all  from  bein' 
et  by  dogs  er  drownded.  Hang  yer  carcass ! 
Go  ashore  an'  let  them  dogs  chaw  ye  np 
piecemeal  as  ye  deserve.  Er  ye  can  drown. 
Git  out,  I'm  tellin'  ye!" 

The  man,  who  had  been  dazed  at  the  out- 
set by  David's  violent  denunciation,  now  in 
his  turn  recognized  the  young  man  who  had 
thrown  the  apples  over  the  stockade.  Weak- 
ened by  the  peril  through  which  he  has  just 
passed,  he  would  have  pleaded  for  mercy 
from  the  stalwart  young  man  who  stood  over 
him  so  threateningly.  But  he  had  no  time. 
As  he  shrank  from  the  fierceness  of  the 
other's  speech,  David  moved  closer.  When 
he  ceased  speaking,  the  mountaineer,  in  a 
final  access  of  fury,  picked  up  the  wretched 
fugitive,  and  tossed  him  overboard  toward 
the  shore. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AS  the  unfortunate  victim  of  adversity 
disappeared  under  water  with  a  huge 
splash,  David  jumped  to  the  oars,  which  he 
plied  briskly  to  hold  the  skiff:  against  the 
current.  He  had  no  fear  lest  the  man  drown, 
since  he  had  tossed  him  into  the  shallows 
close  to  the  shore  under  the  bluff.  But  his 
indignation  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and  he 
meant  to  tell  the  fellow  a  few  more  candid 
truths  concerning  thieves  and  Yankees  and 
oppressors  of  cripples.  He  only  waited  until 
the  escaped  prisoner  should  be  in  a  position 
to  give  him  due  attention. 

For  the  moment,  the  soldier  was  in  too 
serious  a  plight  to  listen  even  to  the  worst 
abuse.  He  managed  to  get  to  his  feet  after 
hard  struggling  and  stood  tottering  and 
choking  from  the  water  he  had  swallowed. 
The  river  rose  to  his  armpits,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  need  of  all  his  strength 
to  withstand  the  sweep  of  the  current.    When 

61 


62  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

lie  had  cleared  his  lungs  a  little,  he  moved 
with  clumsy,  staggering  caution  toward  the 
shore.  He  slipped,  and  only  with  difficulty 
saved  himself  from  going  down.  Plainly, 
the  man  was  almost  at  the  end  of  his  re- 
sources. David  in  the  boat  two  rods  away 
could  hear  the  hiss  of  the  hurried,  painfully 
drawn  breath,  the  panting  sigh  with  which  it 
was  exhaled.  The  mountaineer  was  touched 
with  compunction.  The  fires  of  his  anger 
died.  He  felt  ashamed  of  the  harshness  he 
had  displayed  toward  one  who,  whatever  his 
fault  had  been,  was  now  deserving  of  pity 
at  least  for  the  suffering  he  had  under- 
gone already  and  those  which  he  still  faced. 
David  was  influenced,  too,  by  the  fact 
that  the  Union  soldier  made  no  plea  to  him 
for  mercy,  but  maintained  a  stoical  silence 
as  he  battled  against  the  clutch  of  the 
stream. 

The  sympathy  that  stirred  in  David's 
bosom  was  quickened  to  action  by  a  new 
factor  in  the  situation.  The  dogs,  at  the  place 
on  the  river  bank  from  which  the  fugitive 
had  leaped  into  the  water,  had  been  attracted 
by  the  sound  of  David's  voice  at  the  point 
below  to  which  the  boat  drifted,  or  they  had 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  63 

caught  the  scent  of  their  prey  borne  toward 
them  on  the  wind.  They  came  charging 
along  the  shore  and  only  halted  when  they 
reached  the  high  overhanging  bank  opposite 
their  quarry.  They  rushed  to  the  brink,  but 
slunk  back,  unwilling  to  make  the  plunge 
down  into  the  stream.  They  bayed  and 
whimpered  and  growled  with  bared  fangs. 
Even  were  the  soldier  to  keep  his  pre- 
carious footing  and  escape  out  of  the  grip 
of  the  current,  he  would  still  have  the 
bloodhounds  to  face,  and  they  would  be 
ruthless. 

David  had  declared  that  he  wished  the 
fellow  might  be  thrown  to  the  dogs,  but  he  had 
said  this  in  a  gust  of  wrath.  Now  that  the 
reality  threatened,  he  was  horror-struck  at 
the  possibility  of  such  a  fate  for  any  fellow 
human  being.  Moreover,  there  came  to  him 
in  this  tense  moment  a  thought  of  his  own 
father  in  the  Northern  prison,  who  might  be 
in  flight  as  this  man  and  fighting  to  escape 
with  his  life  from  merciless  foes.  David 
felt  the  impulse  to  help  the  hapless  Union 
soldier  against  his  adversaries,  even  as  he 
would  wish  some  Northern  lad  in  a  position 
like  his  own  to  give  aid  to  his  father.    And, 


64  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

too,  he  was  moved  by  an  instinctive  sympathy 
in  favor  of  one  against  whom  the  odds  were 
so  heavy. 

Now,  another  weight  was  dropped  in  the 
balance  to  make  David 's  decision  in  behalf 
of  the  fleeing  prisoner.  A  noise  of  shoutings 
sounded  out  of  the  woods  some  distance  back 
from  the  river  bank.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  that  these  cries  came  from  the  guards 
who  were  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitive,  and 
were  now  hastening  in  the  direction  indicated 
by  the  baying  of  the  bloodhounds.  If  as- 
sistance were  to  be  of  avail,  no  time  must 
be  lost.  The  man  himself  was  incapable  of 
avoiding  recapture.  He  had  managed  to  ap- 
proach more  closely  to  the  bank,  and  stood 
where  the  water  was  not  above  his  waist 
line.  But  it  was  apparent  that  his  strength 
was  well-nigh  exhausted.  Even  in  the  fad- 
ing light  he  was  visibly  shivering  from  his 
contact  with  the  stream.  In  his  weakened 
condition,  it  would  be  manifestly  impossible 
for  him  to  breast  the  current  and  gain  the 
farther  shore  of  the  river.  On  the  bank  be- 
fore him,  the  dogs  waited,  frantic  with  de- 
sire to  set  upon  him,  to  rend  and  throttle 
him.    The  beasts  would  be  reinforced  by  the 


With  a  strong  push  on  the  oars,  he  sent  the  skiff  shoreward 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  65 

pursuing  men,  whose  shouts  indicated  that 
they  were  rapidly  drawing  nearer. 

David  hesitated  no  longer.  With  a  strong 
push  on  the  oars,  he  sent  the  skiff  shore- 
ward. He  saw  that  the  man  feared  his  ap- 
proach, naturally  enough,  for  the  fellow  be- 
gan a  stumbling  progress  up  stream  away 
from  the  advancing  boat.  After  the  treat- 
ment he  had  meted,  the  mountaineer  could 
not  wonder  that  he  was  regarded  as  an 
enemy.  He  called  out  to  advise  the  soldier 
of  his  change  of  heart. 

"I  cal'late  mebbe  I  was  a  mite  ha'sh. 
Leastways,  I  ain't  a-goin'  t'  see  ye  et  up 
by  them  durn  bloodhounds.' '  The  man  had 
halted  at  David's  placating  address,  and  the 
skiff  now  drew  close  to  him.  "I  'low  I'm 
plumb  foolish,  but  I  aim  t'  git  ye  acrost  the 
stream  away  from  them  dogs  an'  the  humans, 
too.  Jest  ye  climb  in  here  right-smart  spry. 
There  ain't  no  time  fer  shennanigin. ' p 

The  miserable  object  of  the  young  man's 
compassion  had  no  choice  but  to  obey,  though 
the  expression  on  his  face  was  of  mingled 
alarm  and  perplexity  over  the  kindly  offer 
from  the  one  who  had  just  treated  him  with 
heartless  violence.    It  is  likely  that  he  sus- 


66  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

pected  the  lad  in  the  skiff  of  being  either 
drunk  or  crazy — a  belief  easy  enough  in  view 
of  the  rapid  and  amazing  inconsistencies  in 
conduct.  This  astonishing  and  dangerous 
person  had  first  rescued  him  and  then  thrown 
him  out  to  drown,  and  now  promised  to 
rescue  him  yet  once  again.  But,  since  he 
had  no  choice,  he  yielded  to  David's  impa- 
tient command,  and  with  much  difficulty,  due 
to  his  weakened  state,  managed  to  climb 
awkwardly  over  the  side  of  the  skiff,  which 
the  mountaineer  held  balanced  against  his 
weight.  Then,  the  tension  of  his  effort  re- 
laxed, he  rolled  on  the  boat's  bottom  in  a 
huddled  heap  of  misery,  shuddering  and 
groaning.  The  instant  he  was  aboard,  David 
bent  to  his  oars,  and  sent  the  skiff  at  full 
speed  out  into  the  channel  of  the  river. 

The  shadows  of  night  had  drawn  down 
until  even  in  mid-stream  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult for  those  on  the  shore  to  pick  out  the 
shadowy  movement  of  the  boat.  David  made 
all  haste,  increasing  his  speed  a  little  as  the 
voices  of  the  men  indicated  their  arrival  at 
the  bank.  Since  no  new  outcry  came  from 
those  assembled  there,  the  mountaineer  was 
sure  that  the  presence  of  the  boat  had  not 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  67 

been  detected.  But  he  continued  rowing 
down  stream  with  the  current  as  swiftly  as 
possible  for  a  long  way,  until  full  darkness 
had  settled  over  land  and  water.  No  sound 
or  movement  came  from  the  collapsed  form 
of  the  fugitive,  except  a  feeble  moaning  and 
now  and  then  a  convulsive  trembling.  As 
David  felt  the  chill  of  the  autumn  night,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  the  exhausted  man  in 
his  drenched  garments  might  suffer  seri- 
ously from  the  exposure.  He  rowed  in  to- 
ward the  shore  opposite  the  prison,  and 
peered  sharply  through  the  shadows  for  a 
landing  place.  He  made  out  a  tiny  cove, 
and  beached  the  skiff  on  the  shelving  sand. 
Then  he  busied  himself  alertly  in  caring  for 
this  enemy  whom  he  had  saved  from  the 
cruelty  of  the  elements  and  beasts  and  men. 
The  fellow,  half -unconscious,  yielded  himself 
to  David's  hands  without  any  attempt  at 
resistance.  The  young  man  stripped  off  the 
sodden  garments,  and  then  rolled  the  soldier 
snugly  in  a  blanket,  and  bestowed  him  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat.  This  done,  he 
launched  the  skiff  again,  and  continued  on 
down  the  river  steadily  throughout  the  long 
hours    of    darkness,    until    a    ghostly   gray 


68  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

stealing  into  the  horizon  told  that  the  dawn 
was  near.  Then,  once  more,  he  turned  the 
boat's  bow  toward  the  western  shore.  After 
some  search,  he  found  an  excellent  landing 
in  a  little  bay,  where  the  entrance  was  al- 
most concealed  from  any  passing  on  the  river 
by  a  luxuriant  growth  of  reeds  and  alders. 
Pine  woods  ran  down  to  the  shore,  offering 
protection  from  the  wind,  and  affording 
abundant  fuel.  Here  David  made  his  camp. 
The  escaped  prisoner,  who  was  now  sleep- 
ing soundly,  and  whose  moaning  had  ceased, 
was  left  undisturbed  in  the  skiff  where  it 
was  drawn  up  on  the  gravelly  shore.  Soon, 
a  brisk  fire  was  burning.  David  spread  out 
the  soldier's  tattered  garments  close  by  the 
blaze  to  dry.  Then  he  betook  himself  to  the 
preparation  of  a  meal,  for  which  he  himself, 
having  worked  through  the  afternoon  and 
the  night  without  any  supper,  was  nearly  as 
ravenous  as  he  knew  his  starving  companion 
must  be. 

The  savory  odor  of  sizzling  bacon  and  eggs 
penetrated  to  the  consciousness  of  the  fam- 
ished fugitive.  Hardly  had  the  bubbling  be- 
gun in  the  skillet  which  David  held  over  the 
coals  when  the  soldier,  although  a  moment  be- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  69 

fore  sunk  in  profound  slumber,  suddenly  sat 
up,  sniffing  rapturously.  Drawn  as  the  steel 
to  the  magnet,  he  got  to  his  feet  and  climbed 
out  of  the  boat  and  hurried  toward  the  fire. 
He  was  not  checked  at  all  by  the  discovery, 
that  he  was  stark  naked.  He  merely  pulled 
the  blanket  about  him  Indian  fashion,  and 
went  on. 

David  nodded  in  recognition  of  the  man's 
need. 

" Ready  in  a  minute,"  he  vouchsafed. 

When  presently  the  fellow  had  been  sup- 
plied with  a  tin  plateful  of  the  hot  food, 
David  was  moved  to  new  pity  by  the  mani- 
fest hunger  the  man  displayed.  He  let  his 
own  appetite  go  unsatisfied  for  a  little  in 
order  to  give  his  guest  another  helping. 
Then  he  cooked  a  second  mess,  which  he 
divided  between  the  two  of  them. 

When  the  meal  was  ended,  the  mountaineer 
shifted  into  his  best  suit  of  clothes,  and  gave 
the  other  to  the  soldier,  who,  he  now  learned, 
was  named  Sam  Morris.  The  clothes  were 
ridiculously  large  for  the  Yankee,  but  they 
were  whole  and  decent  and  he  was  pathetic- 
ally grateful  for  the  gift.  His  single  pos- 
session of  value  that  he  had  retained  was 


70  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

a  battered  old  pipe,  which  had  been  long 
without  tobacco.  His  happiness  was  com- 
plete when  David  gave  him  a  filling  for  the 
pipe,  and  he  sat  for  a  time  in  silence,  puffing 
luxuriously  with  that  appreciation  which  is 
known  only  to  those  long  deprived  of  such 
solace. 

"I  guess  you  saved  me  from  bein' 
drownded,"  Morris  said  at  last.  "Your 
feelin's  seem  to  be  kind  o'  mixed.  I  guess 
you  meant  well  all  the  time  except  for  a 
minute  you  lost  your  temper. ' ' 

"I  'low  I  was  plumb  het  up,"  David  ad- 
mitted reluctantly. 

"An'  I  ain't  the  one  to  blame  you,"  the 
soldier  declared.  "I  don't  wonder  you  had 
it  in  for  me.  It  was  a  cussed  mean  trick, 
my  swipin'  that  apple  from  that  poor  one- 
legged  boy  of  ours.  But  I  tell  you,  mister, 
when  a  man's  starvin'  he  ain't  rightly  re- 
sponsible for  the  things  he  does.  A  man's 
belly  is  a  mighty  sight  bigger  than  his  con- 
science. Why,  mister,  I  just  couldn't  help 
swipin'  that  apple.  Was  you  ever  hungry — 
real  hungry,  mister?" 

David  laughed  at  the  patent  absurdity  of 
the  question. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  71 

u  Three  er  four  times  a  day,  's  fur  back 
as  I  can  remember. ' '  Then  his  face  sobered. 
"But  I  cal'late  I  hain't  ever  been  hungry 
like  ye  Yankees  there  inside  the  stockade. 
You-all  was  so  pesky  peaked  and  pinin\  it 
got  me  a-goin'  with  them  apples  plumb  reck- 
less. If  I  hadn't  been  so  wrought  up,  I 
wouldn't  'a'  been  so  darned  free  with  an- 
other man's  apples."  He  chuckled  amusedly 
over  his  own  discomfiture. 

"They  wasn't  your'n!"  Morris  cried. 

David  shook  his  head  and  his  face 
lengthened.  Then  he  told  the  full  narrative 
of  his  exploit,  while  Morris  listened  eagerly, 
with  many  ejaculations  of  astonishment,  of 
admiration,  of  sympathy. 

"Gosh  all  hemlock!"  he  vociferated,  when 
the  tale  was  ended.  "I  certingly  did  get  you 
into  a  peck  of  trouble,  and  now  you're 
a-heapin'  coals  of  fire  on  my  head,  as  it 
were. ' ' 

"I  owe  ye  something"  David  replied  with 
a  grin,  "fer  that  extry  duckin'  I  give  ye  in 
the  river." 

The  two  men  continued  talking  together 
for  a  time,  discussing  their  future  course  of 
action,    David,  having  embarked  on  the  work 


72  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

of  rescue,  was  anxious  to  carry  it  to  a  suc- 
cessful conclusion.  He  felt  a  personal  re- 
sponsibility for  the  man  whom  he  had  saved 
from  recapture,  and  the  feeling  offset  his 
natural  antagonism  to  this  enemy  from  the 
North,  so  that  he  was  willing  to  work  in  the 
fugitive's  behalf.  The  fellow's  frank  con- 
fession of  fault  in  stealing  the  apple  meant 
for  the  cripple  had  done  much  to  change  the 
mountaineer's  hostile  mood  to  one  of  friend- 
liness. It  was  quickly  decided  that  the  two 
should  journey  together  to  the  coast.  The 
soldier 's  identity  would  hardly  be  penetrated 
by  the  few  persons  they  were  likely  to  meet 
on  the  voyage,  since  in  David's  clothes  there 
was  nothing  of  his  outward  appearance  to 
betray  him.  The  chief  need  for  caution 
would  be  in  the  matter  of  speech.  He  must 
speak  little  if  at  all,  lest  his  Yankee  drawl 
excite  suspicion.  With  their  plans  thus  set- 
tled, the  men  wrapped  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  and,  both  alike  over-wearied,  slept 
soundly  until  noon  of  the  next  day. 

Their  leisurely  traveling  down  the  river 
was  for  the  most  part  uneventful.  There 
were  no  signs  of  pursuit,  and  the  few  persons 
whom  they  encountered  showed  no  suspicion, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  73 

for  David  did  the  talking,  and  they  regarded 
his  taciturn  companion  with  the  stubble  of 
red  beard  as  a  fellow  mountaineer.  It  was 
not  until  they  came  near  to  the  South 
Carolina  border  that  adventure  befell. 

Several  miles  before  the  Yadkin  River 
crosses  the  state  line,  beyond  which  it  flows 
peacefully  on  its  way  as  the  Great  Pedee 
to  mingle  its  cloudy  waters  with  the  clearer 
element  of  the  sea,  it  passes  through  a  nar- 
row defile  worn  down  through  the  stone  of 
the  cliffs  by  the  ceaseless  friction  of  the 
waters  during  untold  ages.  Here,  within  the 
canyon,  the  stream  rushes  madly  in  a  sharp 
descent,  crowded  within  lofty  walls.  The 
cavernous  place  echoes  with  the  roaring 
turbulence  of  the  stream.  To-day  the  huge 
power  of  the  rapids  has  been  harnessed  for 
the  making  of  electric  current  to  supply 
cities  and  towns  far  and  near.  But  half  a 
century  ago,  the  waters  raced  in  wasteful 
riot  through  a  region  that  was  a  wilderness. 

David,  who  was  wholly  unfamiliar  with 
this  portion  of  the  river,  was  able  never- 
theless to  calculate  his  near  approach  to 
the  rapids  by  estimating  the  distance  he  had 
traveled  from  Salisbury. 


74  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

He  spoke  of  the  rapids  to  Morris. 

"I  'low  we're  plumb  close  t'  some  rough 
water.  I  hain't  never  been  this  fur  before, 
but,  shucks!  I  ain't  worryin'.  I  cal'late  it 
ain't  likely  t'  be  as  bad  as  some  rapids  I've 
shot  up  in  the  mountains."  He  regarded 
the  soldier  doubtfully.  "Be  ye  a-f eared? 
If  so  be,  I'll  set  ye  ashore  when  we  hear  the 
river  begin  thunderin'.  Ye '11  have  a  mighty 
hard  climb  t'  the  foot  o'  the  rapids,  I  reckon, 
but  it'll  be  safer,  like's  not,  even  if  ye  break 
a  leg  on  the  rocks.  But  I'm  thinkin'  ye 
wasn't  born  t'  be  drownded."  He  chuckled 
reminiscently. 

Morris,  too,  grinned  in  response. 

"I  guess  I'll  stick  to  the  boat,"  he  as- 
serted. "I've  been  down  rapids  myself," 
he  added  boastfully.  "Up  home,  our  Sunday 
school  had  an  excursion  to  Ausable  Chasm. 
Fine  rapids  there,  by  cricky!  Went  down 
in  a  steamer.  It  bobbed  around  something 
scandalous.  The  women  was  all  a-squawkin' 
an'  hangin'  onto  the  men.  I  was  close  up  to 
a  pippin  of  a  girl,  but  she  didn't  seem 
to  have  her  right  senses  like,  and  hugged 
an  old  mossback  with  a  fat  wife,  what 
clean    forgot    about    them    rapids    in    tell- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  75 

ing  the  girl  she  was  a  hussy  and  how  to  be- 
have.'' 

It  so  chanced,  as  the  skiff  drifted  down 
the  current  toward  the  beginning  of  the 
rapids,  that  the  wind,  which  had  been  blow- 
ing with  increasing  violence,  and  veering 
from  the  west,  now  blew  straight  from  the 
north.  The  effect  of  it  was  to  prevent  the 
men  in  the  boat  from  hearing  the  earlier 
sullen  muttering  of  the  troubled  waters  be- 
low. They  were  already  within  the  grasp 
of  the  hurrying  current  before  they  were 
aware  that  the  rapids  were  at  hand.  Even 
when  they  perceived  from  their  increased 
speed  that  they  were  close  to  the  descent, 
they  were  quite  undisturbed,  all  unconscious 
of  any  grave  peril  before  them.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  wind,  the  mighty  din  would  have 
warned  them,  would  have  bade  them  beware 
and  investigate  ere  facing  the  danger  that 
menaced  them.  But  their  ears  were  stopped. 
So,  without  a  qualm  of  apprehension,  they 
sat  contentedly  in  the  skiff,  which  darted  for- 
ward with  the  smoothly  hastening  water  at 
a  speed  that  increased  swiftly  from  moment 
to  moment.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  river 
made  a  turn.    Within  the  minute  they  were 


76  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

rushing  through  a  sunless  space  of  somber 
shadows  inclosed  by  massive  cliffs  which 
towered,  grim  and  relentless,  between  them 
and  the  outer  world. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WITHOUT  warning  the  uproar  of  the 
elements  crashed  on  the  ears  of  the 
two  men  in  the  skiff  as  their  frail  craft  was 
swept  into  the  rock-bonnd  recess.  Yet,  at 
the  outset,  the  clamor  that  came  from  the 
frantic  waters  further  on  was  the  only  thing 
likely  to  cause  alarm. 

This  first  stretch  of  the  rapids  gave  no 
visible  hint  of  the  dangers  lying  in  wait  be- 
yond. The  waters,  while  hurrying  ever  more 
swiftly,  showed  here  a  smooth  surface,  un- 
broken by  projecting  rocks.  The  fluid  body 
moved  forward  calmly  and  evenly  between 
the  straight,  parallel  stretches  of  rock  that 
hemmed  it  in.  There  was  nothing  threaten- 
ing in  this  movement  so  far  as  the  eye  could 
detect,  though  the  swift  increase  in  speed 
was  a  terrifying  thing.  But  it  needed  no 
more  than  the  thunderous  din  reverberating 
among  the  cliffs  to  proclaim  the  deadly  peril 
that  menaced  close  at  hand.    The  enormous 

77 


78  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

noise  at  first  astounded  the  two  men,  then 
appalled  them.  They  shuddered  and  shrank 
back  as  if  in  recoil  from  the  hideous  up- 
roar. But  the  skiff  bore  them  on  remorse- 
lessly. The  gaunt,  pallid  face  of  the  Union 
soldier  showed  ghastly  gray  through  the  red 
bristles  of  beard;  David's  ruddy  cheeks 
whitened  beneath  the  tan.  The  escaped 
prisoner  needed  not  to  be  told  that  a  des- 
perate, if  not  fatal  adventure  confronted 
him.  Here  was  nothing  like  the  sportive 
liveliness  of  Ausable  Chasm.  This  level 
flight  forward  toward  the  tumult  of  sound 
was  unspeakably  dreadful,  ominous  of  de- 
struction lurking  only  seconds  away,  just 
beyond  a  break  in  the  straight  line  of  the 
canyon's  walls,  where  now  flashed  the  danger 
sign  of  white,  far-flung  masses  of  spray. 
David,  too,  felt  terror's  cold  grip  on  his  heart. 
The  rapids  he  had  known  had  been  nothing 
like  this. 

With  the  singular  lucidity  that  so  often 
marks  the  memory  in  moments  of  gravest 
import,  he  recalled  the  various  accounts  he 
had  heard  of  these  rapids  near  the  border. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  each  single  word  ever 
spoken  to  him  concerning  them  now  flashed 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL  79 

through  his  brain.  He  realized,  too,  with  a 
pang  of  shame  for  his  own  conceited  heed- 
lessness of  youth,  that  he  had  only  himself 
to  blame  for  the  extremity  in  which  he  found 
himself.  He  had  had  warning  enough  of  the 
trap  set  by  the  river  here.  Only,  in  the  blind 
pride  of  his  personal  prowess,  he  had  wil- 
fully discounted  the  tales  told  him  concern- 
ing these  ravening  waters.  He  had  only  his 
own  folly  to  accuse  for  the  fatal  pass  into 
which  he  had  entered  so  recklessly.  It  was 
a  folly  for  which  he  might  have  to  pay  with 
his  life.  He  knew  from  the  infernal  clamor 
bursting  out  of  the  distance  that  only  a 
miracle  could  save  any  one  alive  out  of  such 
turmoil. 

Panic  fell  on  David.  He  knew  fear  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life.  His  heart  failed 
him  in  the  opening  seconds  of  that  stealthy, 
sinister  volleying  speed  with  the  river's  cur- 
rent. He  saw  the  terror-stricken  face  of  his 
companion  turned  toward  him,  vaguely  out- 
lined against  the  gloom;  he  saw  the  man's 
mouth  moving  grotesquely,  whether  in  pray- 
ers or  curses  he  could  not  tell,  since  the 
booming  clangor  from  the  cliffs  stilled  all 
other  sound.    For  that  matter,  David  just 


80  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

then  had  no  care  for  his  fellow  victim  of  the 
river;  his  sole  concern  was  for  himself — the 
selfish  instinct  of  the  creature  for  its  own 
life,  without  a  thought  to  spare  for  aught 
else  in  the  universe. 

The  impulse  of  fear  drove  David  to  vain 
endeavor.  He  swung  the  steering  oar  from 
its  place  in  the  stern,  and  beat  with  it  fran- 
tically in  furious  swings  through  the  water. 
He  put  every  ounce  of  his  strength  into  this 
assault  against  a  relentless  enemy.  The  ef- 
fort was  futile.  The  skiff  did  not  even  swerve 
in  its  flight  onward.  It  was  the  tragical 
struggle  of  a  pygmy  against  a  Titan. 

Morris  was  crouching  on  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  as  if  seeking  protection  behind  its  frail 
bulwarks  from  the  river's  f rightfulness.  His 
eyes  were  glazed;  his  lips  were  writhing  in 
impotent  soundlessness.  The  soldier  who 
had  fought  undismayed  and  bravely  on  many 
bloody  fields,  now  huddled  cowering  and  gib- 
bering in  the  grasp  of  stark  despair. 

Something  of  sanity  returned  to  David. 
Fear  still  possessed  him,  but  his  momentary 
panic  passed.  He  realized  the  utter  ab- 
surdity of  any  attempt  to  match  his  puny 
strength    against    the    river's    might.      He 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  81 

recognized  as  well  the  futility  of  his  pur- 
pose even  could  it  have  been  achieved  in  turn- 
ing the  skiff's  course  to  either  side,  for  the 
twin  walls  of  stone  that  confined  the  stream 
rose  sheer  for  a  long  way.  There  was  no- 
where any  possibility  of  a  landing  place, 
nowhere  a  projection  to  which  one  might 
cling.  Those  bleak,  slimy,  perpendicular  sur- 
faces were  absolutely  unscalable.  The  moun- 
taineer abandoned  further  effort.  He  strove, 
without  much  success,  to  regain  some  mea- 
sure of  courage  and  to  face  the  outcome, 
whatever  it  might  be,  in  a  spirit  of  manly 
fortitude.  Mechanically  he  shipped  his  oar, 
and  sat  with  countenance  grimly  set  in 
readiness  for  whatever  might  befall.  A  de- 
fiant energy  welled  up  in  him.  He  would 
not  cringe  in  the  presence  of  the  final  catas- 
trophe, though  he  had  no  least  hope  of 
escaping  alive  out  of  this  evil  place. 

All  this  in  a  matter  of  seconds.  The  skiff 
fairly  flew  the  length  of  the  canyon's  level 
stretch.  It  came  with  incredible  quickness 
to  the  bend  where  against  the  outer  cliff 
the  pounding  waters  cast  high  wreaths  of 
spume.  David  expected  that  the  boat  would 
be  hurled  against  the  rock,  would  be  crushed 


82  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

to  splinters,  leaving  them  helpless  in  the 
race.  But  the  time  was  not  yet.  The  skiff 
had  been  in  the  very  center  of  the  channel, 
and,  though  it  now  swung  down  within  inches 
of  the  stern  rampart,  it  did  not  quite  touch. 
The  falling  spray  came  in  a  drenching 
shower.  In  the  same  instant  the  boat  was 
swept  with  the  stream  in  a  great  curve,  and 
went  hurtling  along  the  second  stage  of  the 
rapids. 

Here  the  din  was  deafening.  But  through 
it  pierced  a  thin  thrust  of  sound — the  shrill 
shriek  of  the  soldier  as  his  affrighted  gaze 
beheld  the  chaos  now  revealed.  David  gave 
no  conscious  attention  to  the  man's  cry,  but 
somehow  it  seemed  like  an  echo  from  his 
own  emotion  as  he  stared  aghast  at  the 
spectacle  of  the  river  in  its  rage. 

It  was  as  if  the  stream  had  suddenly  gone 
mad,  and  wallowed  in  an  insensate  fury,  yet 
was  subtlv  aware  of  its  own  crazed  condi- 
tion,  and  sought  to  flee  from  this,  its  torture 
chamber,  out  into  the  distance,  where  the 
sane  peace  of  the  valley  waited  with  smiling 
welcome.  The  rocky  floor  of  the  rift  through 
which  the  river  tore  fell  away  in  a  slope  so 
steep  that  the  torrent  seemed  rather  to  leap 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  83 

than  glide.  And  the  course  of  the  stream 
was  roughly  meandering.  The  cliffs,  too, 
were  jagged,  worn  to  uncouth  shapes  by  the 
buffetings  of  the  waves,  ridged  and  furrowed, 
here  with  prongs  like  the  tusks  of  some  fero- 
cious monster,  avid  to  rend  and  devour,  there 
with  eroded  grottoes,  dim  and  mysterious, 
within  which  the  baffled  waters  whispered 
and  moaned.  But  the  chief  danger  spots 
were  where  rocks  reared  their  crests  in 
steadfast  resistance  to  the  endless  batter- 
ing of  the  river.  Each  protruding  point, 
though  itself  veiled  from  view,  was  made 
known  by  white  sheen  of  spray  from  the 
water  shattering  against  it.  Others,  too, 
there  were,  which,  though  without  such  warn- 
ing of  their  presence,  were  none  the  less 
deadly — those  that  did  not  quite  clear  the 
surface,  but  lay  beneath  in  ambush  to  destroy. 
The  skiff  plunged  downward  with  the 
flood.  It  rocked  perilously  under  the  pound- 
ing of  opposing  currents.  The  two  men  were 
forced  to  cling  with  all  their  strength  to  the 
gunwales,  to  avoid  being  carried  into  the 
river's  hungry  maw.  The  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  made  them  hold  fast  with  des- 
perate energy  to  the  frail  support  that  alone 


84         THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

lay  between  them  and  destruction  in  the  rabid 
coil  of  waters.  But  reason  forbade  any  ex- 
pectation that  their  respite  could  endure  for 
more  than  a  few  flitting  moments. 

The  boat  reeled  under  a  sudden  vicious 
blow.  As  it  careened,  one  side  scraped 
against  an  outthrust  of  rock.  The  little 
craft  shuddered  at  the  contact  like  a  living 
thing,  but  there  was  no  pause  in  the  onward 
rush.  David  gasped  in  relief  as  he  saw  that 
no  injury  had  been  wrought.  He  wondered 
dully  how  long  it  would  be  before  the  com- 
ing of  the  crash  that  must  mean  the  end  of 
all  things.  Already  the  clothes  of  both  men 
were  wringing  wet.  The  skiff  was  half -filled 
by  fallen  spray.  The  boat  veered  violently 
to  the  left,  missing  the  cliff  by  a  hand's 
breadth.  It  was  caught  in  an  eddy  and  spun 
dizzily  for  what  seemed  a  long  time.  In 
reality  it  was  no  more  than  the  fraction  of 
a  second.  Then  again  it  leaped  downward. 
It  fled  like  a  sentient  thing,  swerving  this 
way  and  that  to  dodge  the  lethal  rocks.  It 
came  to  David's  mind  that  now  the  chief 
turmoil  was  behind  them.  A  flame  of  hope 
kindled  in  him.  His  eyes  roved  the  canyon 
before  him  and  he  saw  that  the  cliffs  were 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  85 

less  towering,  more  broken.  The  place  was 
visibly  lightening.  And  there  could  be  no 
mistake :  the  bedlam  of  the  river  was  dimin- 
ishing. Yes,  surely,  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take: the  end  of  the  rapids  was  at  hand. 
The  flame  of  hope  in  David's  breast  blazed 
high. 

The  skiff  hesitated,  quivering  like  a 
wounded  thing.  Its  bottom  rasped  over  a 
toothed  surface  of  hidden  stone.  A  great 
mass  of  boiling  water  drove  against  it,  as  it 
lay  wavering,  half-capsized.  The  force  of 
the  impact  hurled  the  boat  aloft  into  the  air 
as  if  it  had  been  a  feather.  It  descended  in 
a  long  arc  and  fell  full  on  an  immobile,  piti- 
less bulk  of  rock,  which  crushed  it  instantly, 
smashed  it  into  tiny  fragments,  which  went 
swirling  and  dancing  away  on  the  tide  like 
thistledown  before  the  gale.  The  crash  of 
the  riven  boat  filled  David's  ears.  He  felt 
himself  locked  fast  in  the  embrace  of  the 
river,  felt  himself  dragged  forward,  down- 
ward. A  pain  like  fire  burned  through  his 
brain — and  consciousness  ceased. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  greatest  mysteries  are  not  those 
conceived  by  the  fiction-makers.  The 
mysteries  that  have  to  do  with  things  actual 
are  the  most  fascinating  and  the  most  baffling 
— when  there  can  be  no  certain  solution, 
Plato,  twenty-odd  centuries  ago,  wrote  a  few 
words  concerning  the  lost  Atlantis.  Through- 
out those  ages  the  learned  have  sought  with 
all  diligence  to  prove  the  verity  amid  a  vast 
jumble  of  speculations  over  the  fate  of  a 
vanished  continent.  They  have  searched  in 
vain.  To-day,  as  always,  that  bit  of  world 
history  remains  enticing,  elusive,  unknown. 
There  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  He 
is  the  one  utterly  unrecognized  personage 
in  civilization's  record.  A  great  novelist 
portrayed  him,  and  offered  an  explanation 
of  his  identity.  There  have  been  other  ex- 
planations of  that  identity,  ingenious  and 
excellent  every  one.  The  only  flaw  is  that 
the  various  theories  presented  are  totally 

86 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  87 

irreconcilable.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
mystery  of  the  Man  in  the  Mask  remains 
still  pathetic  and  dreadful — and  entrancing. 
■So,  too,  the  mystery  of  a  lost  colony ;  summed 
in  a  single  word,  Croatan — of  which  word  no 
man  knows  the  source  or  the  significance. 

The  mystery  is  none  the  less  absorbing  in 
that  it  has  to  do  with  folk  of  our  own  blood, 
dwelling  in  our  own  land. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  sent  no  less  than  three 
unfruitful  expeditions  to  Roanoke  Island,  at 
the  junction  of  Albemarle  and  Palmico 
Sounds.  This  land  of  Virginia  seemed  in- 
deed one  flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  and 
there  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  a 
colony  here  would  flourish  exceedingly.  The 
woods  were  alive  with  game,  the  waters 
teemed  with  fish,  the  rocks  in  the  sounds 
bore  oysters  in  inexhaustible  supply,  the  soil 
was  extraordinarily  fertile.  The  third  ex- 
pedition brought  colonists  for  a  permanent 
settlement.  There  were  men,  women  and 
children.  Houses  were  built,  clearings  were 
made  and  crops  were  planted.  There  was 
not  a  qualm  of  foreboding  on  the  part  of 
any  when  the  ships  set  sail  for  England,  to 
return  in  a  year's  time  with  supplies.     It 


88  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

was  in  this  colony  on  Roanoke  Island  that 
Virginia  Dare  was  born — first  white  child 
born  in  America. 

There  came  troublous  times  in  England. 
The  return  of  the  ships  was  delayed  for 
three  years.  When  at  last  the  little  fleet 
sailed  into  the  island  harbor,  officers  and 
men  alike  were  amazed.  They  had  expected 
the  colonists  to  come  swarming  in  welcome 
of  the  returning  vessels  after  the  long  period 
of  isolation  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  In- 
stead, not  a  single  person  was  anywhere 
visible.  The  houses  of  the  community  stood 
with  closed  doors.  Investigation  only  deep- 
ened the  puzzle  presented  by  the  situation. 
The  place  was  wholly  deserted.  The  houses 
were  carefully  searched,  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  recent  occupancy  in  any  of  them. 
It  was  plain  that  the  dwellings  had  been  de- 
serted, and  for  a  long  time.  Nowhere  was  a 
hint  given  to  tell  the  story  of  this  strange 
disappearance.  There  were  no  signs  of  com- 
bat, such  as  might  have  appeared  had  the 
colonists  been  slaughtered  by  Indians.  There 
was  nothing  to  suggest  that  starvation  had 
destroyed  the  little  band.  No  cluster  of 
rudely  marked  graves  proclaimed  an  inva- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  89 

sion  by  virulent  disease.  There  was  in 
truth  absolutely  no  clue  from  which  to  de- 
duce a  reason  for  the  weird  thing  that  had 
befallen. 

No  clue — save  one. 

Near  the  landing  stage  a  tall  pole  had  been 
erected.  Its  conspicuousness  gave  it  signi- 
ficance. A  word  was  carved  on  it;  a  single 
word.    That  word  was: 

"Croatan." 

Such  is  the  mystery.  None  knows  the  fate 
of  the  colony  that  disappeared  so  strangely. 
One  may  only  surmise  as  to  what  occurred. 
And  surmise  here,  in  view  of  all  the  facts, 
has  small  justification  in  any  aspect  of  the 
matter.  The  mystery  as  to  how  and  whither 
these  men,  women  and  children  went  forth 
from  their  homes  may  be  indicated  in  that 
one  word,  Croatan.  But  that  word  itself 
too,  is  a  mystery — fit  symbol,  if  symbol  it  be, 
of  the  folk  who  left  it. 

Centuries  afterward,  that  portion  of  Vir- 
ginia which  was  to  become  the  interior  of 
the  two  Carolinas  began  to  be  settled  by 
hardy  and  industrious  adventurers.  Into  the 
tier  of  counties  situated  between  the  Lumber 
River  and  the  Yadkin,   contiguous  to  the 


90  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

South  Carolina  border,  came  the  advance 
guard  from  a  body  of  Scotch  pioneers.  Find- 
ing soil  and  climate  to  their  liking,  they  sum- 
moned their  fellows,  and  made  a  permanent 
settlement. 

They  found,  however,  that  in  and  about 
the  section  which  they  had  selected  they  were 
not,  after  all,  the  first  comers.  Here  was 
already  established  a  flourishing  community. 
The  people  that  constituted  it  was  a  strange 
sort.  The  race  showed  an  amalgamation 
that  was  unique.  These  individuals  were  dis- 
tinctly unlike  the  neighboring  tribes  of  Red 
Men,  even  though  they  displayed  some  racial 
characteristics  in  common  with  the  Chero- 
kees,  whom  they  most  resembled.  They 
spoke  the  English  language;  they  had  Eng- 
lish usages;  they  wore  clothes  fashioned 
after  English  custom ;  their  homes  were  sub- 
stantial log  houses;  they  kept  droves  of 
ponies  and  herds  of  cattle  and  flocks  of 
sheep.  The  men  displayed  good  physiques; 
the  women  were  comely.  Perhaps  the  one 
thing  that  most  differentiated  them  from  the 
Indians  was  the  fact  that  the  heaviest  labor 
was  performed  by  the  men  instead  of  the 
women.    They  had  little  to  tell  of  a  definite 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL  91 

kind  as  to  their  origin.  The  familiar  myth  de- 
clared that  they  had  come  from  a  long  way 
off.  There  was  evidence  of  an  Indian  strain 
in  the  blood  from  the  cheekbones,  which 
while  not  extremely  prominent  were  higher 
than  the  average  among  whites.  A  final 
peculiarity  was  fonnd  in  the  nomenclature. 
Many  members  of  the  tribe  had  English 
names.  And  these  names  were  identical  with 
those  of  the  lost  colonists ! 

On  the  face  of  it,  there  are  reasons  a  plenty 
why  the  members  of  this  tribe  should  call 
themselves  the  Croatans.  Anyhow,  their 
neighbors  have  given  them  the  name,  and 
they  have  accepted  it.  What  strange,  per- 
haps horrible,  history  lies  hidden  here,  we 
cannot  know,  we  may  not  guess  with  any  pre- 
cision. And,  since  there  is  no  definite  evi- 
dence to  the  contrary,  we  may  best  take  this 
people  at  its  own  estimate  as  comprising  the 
sole  descendants  of  the  colony  that  aban- 
doned Roanoke  Island  in  a  fashion  so  inex- 
plicable more  than  three  hundred  years  ago. 

In  the  centuries  that  elapsed  after  the 
mingling  of  the  blood  of  whites  and  red  men 
in  the  Croatans,  the  tribe  passed  the  years 
in  leisurely,  migratory  living  on  the  main- 


92  THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

land.  Thus  they  grew  to  know  all  the  coastal 
region.  They  became  familiar  with  every 
detail  of  the  Atlantic  plain.  They  were  at 
home  on  the  savannahs  that  reached  levelly 
toward  the  sea,  and  they  knew  the  innu- 
merable secret  trails  that  penetrated  the  laby- 
rinths of  the  swamps,  where  the  treacherous 
ooze  steamed  beneath  canopies  of  funereal 
cypress,  garlanded  with  Spanish  moss  in 
endless  drooping  festoons.  They  fattened 
their  larders  with  the  game  to  be  found 
among  the  open  forests  of  yellow  pine  spread 
over  the  coastal  plain.  They  came  to  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  higher  ground  of 
the  Piedmont  plateau,  where  their  rifles  took 
toll  of  the  creatures  that  harbored  on  slopes 
thickly  timbered  with  oak  and  elm  and  hick- 
ory. They  even  pressed  their  hunting  up 
higher  into  the  Brushy  Mountains  of  the 
Blue  Eidge,  where  hard  wood  and  conifers 
mingled. 

Wherever  the  Croatans  made  their  camp, 
they  were  formerly  rather  undesirable  as 
neighbors.  They  were  a  people  apart.  All 
others  were  by  way  of  being  their  natural 
enemies,  and,  as  such,  legitimate  prey,  to  be 
plundered  as  opportunity  served.    The  chief 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  93 

pastime  of  the  men  was  in  forays  against  the 
peace,  property  and  prosperity  of  honest 
settlers  who  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  excite 
the  cupidity  of  the  lawless  band.  The  sparsely 
settled  region  was  powerless  to  protect  it- 
self from  such  depredations.  The  strongest 
force  must  have  failed  to  track  them  through 
the  swamps,  where  they  alone  could  pass 
safely  by  quaking  bog  and  slimy  morass. 
Their  camp  was  always  adequately  prepared 
to  resist  attack,  and  could  easily  have  re- 
pelled any  siege  that  might  possibly  be 
brought  against  it. 

So  the  Croatans  lived  and  thrived  through 
the  centuries  and  their  consciences  were  not 
a  whit  troubled  by  their  thievery,  for  in- 
deed they  thought  no  moral  wrong  of  it. 
They  regarded  themselves,  in  a  somewhat 
vague,  but  very  practical  way,  as  overlords 
of  the  country  round  about,  with  all  the 
rights  of  suzerainty. 

Chief  Lowrie  built  his  camp  not  far  from 
the  Yadkin  River  and  close  to  the  border  of 
South  Carolina.  The  outbreak  of  the  Civil 
War  was  not  of  supreme  importance  to  him 
or  to  his  people.  Some  of  the  Croatans  were 
loyal  to  their  Southland;  but  the  fact  that 


94  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

the  nation  was  in  the  throes  of  mortal  strife 
distressed  many  of  them  not  at  all.  On  the 
contrary,  it  caused  rejoicing,  since  the  draft- 
ing of  men  to  the  colors  made  raiding  easier. 
On  the  very  day  that  David  and  the  soldier 
gave  themselves  so  recklessly  to  the  merci- 
less fury  of  the  rapids,  Chief  Lowrie  sum- 
moned to  his  presence  for  a  very  serious 
conversation  his  only  child,  the  Princess 
Elizabeth. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  princess  was  in  her  bedroom,  em- 
broidering an  intricate  design  in  beads 
on  a  moccasin  of  finest  bnckskin,  when  she 
heard  her  father's  call.  She  wondered  a 
little  at  the  summons,  which  had  a  peremp- 
tory ring  not  usual  in  his  speech  to  her.  She 
got  up  obediently,  laid  aside  her  work,  and 
went  out  into  the  living-room  of  the  cabin 
where  her  father  awaited  her. 

This  room  was  a  spacious  one,  running 
the  whole  length  of  the  cabin,  with  two 
smaller  chambers  opening  from  it  on  either 
side.  The  huge  fireplace  with  a  kettle  of 
stew  simmering  from  the  crane  indicated 
that  the  kitchen  was  here,  while  the  rudely 
fashioned  table  spread  with  oilcloth  showed 
that  the  place  served  as  a  dining-room  also. 
Other  furnishings  proved  it  to  be  the  family 
sitting-room.  The  composite  character  of 
the  place  was  revealed  in  the  orderly  array 
of  shining  copper  and  iron  cooking  utensils 

95 


96  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

hung  upon  the  walls,  in  the  display  of  coarse 
crockery  arranged  on  a  set  of  shelves,  in 
the  high  desk  and  smaller  table,  on  which 
stood  a  candle  before  a  row  of  well-worn 
books. 

Chief  Lowrie  had  been  oiling  his  rifle. 
Now,  as  his  daughter  entered  the  room,  he 
set  the  weapon  against  the  wall,  and  from 
his  place  in  a  heavy  armchair  regarded  her 
gravely,  yet  with  manifest  pride  and  tender- 
ness. And  Elizabeth  returned  his  gaze 
levelly.  She  stared  at  him  half-curiously, 
as  if  she  felt  somehow  that  this  interview 
was  fraught  with  a  significance  beyond  the 
ordinary.  It  appeared  to  her  that  her  father 
was  a  little  strange  in  his  manner,  his  bear- 
ing more  authoritative  than  that  to  which 
she  was  accustomed  in  his  relation  to  her. 

The  chief  of  the  Croatans  was  in  truth  a 
striking  figure.  He  was  a  man  of  much  more 
than  the  average  height,  and  the  length  of 
his  body  made  him  appear  so  even  when 
sitting.  He  was  broad-shouldered,  too, 
evidently  the  possessor  of  an  exceptional 
physique.  At  fifty,  his  form  had  coarsened,  so 
that  he  had  lost  something  of  the  elasticity 
and  swiftness  of  his  movements.     But  the 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL  97 

great  strength  remained  undiminished.  It 
was  a  strength  that  had  made  him  able  to 
rule  his  people  by  might  as  well  as  by  the  right 
of  inheritance,  for  there  was  no  man  in  the 
tribe  to  stand  against  him,  nor  ever  had  been. 
His  head  and  face,  too,  were  those  of  a 
natural  ruler,  massive  and  powerful.  His 
iron-gray  hair,  still  unthinned  by  the  years, 
waved  a  little,  and  the  abundant  locks  gave 
dignity.  The  features  were  of  a  Roman 
type,  haughty  and  rugged,  usually  a  little 
cruel,  a  little  savage. 

But  there  was  nothing  either  cruel  or 
savage  in  their  expression  now  as  he  con- 
templated his  daughter.  On  the  contrary, 
the  sloe-black  eyes  glowed  with  affection  as 
they  scrutinized  the  girl  from  beneath  shaggy 
brows. 

The  daughter  was  assuredly  one  to  delight 
a  father's  heart.  She  was  taller  than  most 
women.  Evidently  she  had  inherited  a  share 
of  her  father's  physical  vigor.  She  stood 
straight  and  pliant,  and  the  unconscious  pose 
revealed  an  exuberant  energy.  She  had  the 
strength  that  comes  from  muscles  of  steel 
sheathed  in  the  soft,  yet  firm  flesh  of  a 
woman.    For  she  had  inherited  not  only  the 


98  THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

strength  of  her  father,  but  also  the  beauty 
and  charm  of  the  mother  who  had  died  to 
give  her  birth.  At  eighteen,  she  had  reached 
full  development  of  her  womanly  grace.  She 
wore  a  one-piece  homespun  gown,  which 
reached  just  below  her  knees.  A  thong  of 
deer-skin  belted  it  at  the  waist.  The  homely 
garb  became  her  well,  since  it  displayed  the 
exquisite  lines  of  a  figure  gently  rounded, 
slender  and  lithe.  There  was  a  suggestion 
of  the  princess  in  the  dainty  feet,  trimly 
shod  in  high  moccasins.  But  the  quality  of 
her  found  its  best  display  in  her  face,  which 
was  not  merely  striking  for  its  delicate  love- 
liness, but  for  its  intelligence  and  nobility. 
In  some  remarkable  manner  the  slight  ac- 
centuation of  the  cheekbones  increased  the 
effect,  as  did  the  rich  bronze  tint  that  under- 
lay the  red  and  white  of  her  complexion. 
There  was  firmness  in  the  rather  generous 
mouth,  and  with  it  tenderness,  perhaps  a 
subtle  prophecy  of  passion.  The  slightly 
arched  nose  gave  her  the  look  of  a  patrician, 
and  it  harmonized  well  with  the  great  black 
eyes,  set  wide  apart.  The  brow  seemed  now 
a  trifle  too  high  for  womanly  perfection,  for 
the  heavy  masses  of  her  hair  were  drawn 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL         99 

away  from  it  and  gathered  in  two  heavy 
braids  which  fell  over  the  gently  swelling 
bosom  to  her  waist. 

She  went  forward  slowly,  until  she  was 
immediately  before  her  father.  There  she 
stood  sedately  awaiting  his  pleasure. 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation,  he  addressed 
her.  His  voice  was  a  little  harsh,  but  not 
unkind.  It  indicated  that  his  feelings  were 
stirred  more  deeply  than  they  usually  were, 
that  this  was  an  occasion  of  peculiar  im- 
portance, in  which  she,  the  daughter  whom 
he  loved,  was  intimately  concerned. 

"Ye'r'  eighteen  year  old,  'Liz'beth,"  he 
began.  "An*  ye'r'  a  woman  grown.  An' 
ye'r'  my  darter — "  he  smiled  wryly — "the 
nearest  thing  t'  a  son  an'  heir  what  I've  got. 
I  ain't  complainin'  edzackly  'cause  ye  ain't 
a  boy.  But,  'cause  I  ain't  got  a  son  t'  take 
my  place  as  chief  o'  the  tribe,  why,  ye  see, 
'Liz'beth,  hit's  up  t'  ye  t'  take  fer  yer  man 
the  one  what's  fitten  t'  rule  the  Croatans  in 
my  stid,  when  I'm  dead  an'  gone.  Ye  un- 
derstand don't  ye,  gal?"  He  waited  for  an 
answer,  surveying  his  daughter  with  somber 
eyes. 

A  trace   of  trouble   showed  in  the   lines 


100        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

of  the  princess '  face.  She  did  indeed  un- 
derstand perfectly  the  significance  of  her 
father's  words.  In  a  crude  way,  both  the 
father  and  daughter  felt  themselves  subject 
to  the  principle  of  noblesse  oblige.  The  pride 
of  birth  was  strong  in  both  of  them.  Chief 
Lowrie  often  boasted  to  his  daughter  con- 
cerning his  high  birth.  He  claimed  descent 
from  the  chiefs  of  the  red  men,  and,  too,  he 
vaunted  a  white  lineage,  which  went  back  to 
Virginia  Dare  in  this  country  and  to  her 
forebears  in  the  old  world.  The  girl  had  ac- 
cepted his  vainglorious  pretensions  without 
question.  She  regarded  herself  as  the  prog- 
eny of  a  great  ancestry,  and,  as  such,  hedged 
in  with  responsibilities  due  to  her  position. 
She  was  well  aware  that  since  she  was 
the  only  child  of  the  chieftain,  the  continu- 
ance of  the  blood  must  come  from  her  mar- 
riage. She  had  no  thought  of  revolt  against 
her  father's  decree,  which  seemed  to  her  in- 
evitable under  the  circumstances.  Rather, 
she  welcomed  it  as  a  duty  to  be  done.  Never- 
theless, now  that  the  crisis  approached,  she 
found  herself  reluctant.  She  was  not  with- 
out her  maidenly  dreams.  The  father,  full 
of  an  inordinate  pride  in  his  beautiful  daugh- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        101 

ter,  had  sent  her  to  the  seminary  at  Fayette- 
ville,  where  she  had  completed  a  course  that 
gave  her  an  excellent  education.  She  had 
been  fond  of  reading.  Romances  thrilled  her. 
In  her  reveries,  she  had  fancied  herself  a 
princess  who  awaited  the  coming  of  Prince 
Charming  to  awaken  her  soul  by  the  touch 
of  his  lips.  That  imagined  Prince  Charming 
was,  alas!  totally  unlike  any  one  of  the 
young  men  among  the  Croatans.  He  was 
most  unlike  Goins,  the  man  next  in  au- 
thority to  her  father,  in  whom  the  chief 
put  most  reliance.  Now,  as  she  nodded  as- 
sent to  her  father's  question,  she  waited 
unhappily  to  hear  this  suitor's  name  pro- 
nounced. And  it  came  in  the  chief's  next 
utterance. 

"Ye  must  take  Charlie  Goins  fer  yer  hus- 
ban\  Thar  ain't  no  two  ways  about  hit. 
'E  's  got  more  gumption  than  any  other  feller 
in  the  tribe.  An'  'e's  mighty  nigh  as  strong 
as  I  be.  'E'll  be  able  t'  keep  'em  in  order, 
when  I'm  done."  He  cast  a  eugenic  eye  over 
his  daughter's  form.  "Yer  children  orter 
be  fust  class.  Charlie  ain't  no  ravin',  tearin> 
beauty  t'  ketch  a  gal's  eye.  I  'low  thet 
But  'e's  a  man,  an'  thet's  the  main  thing 


102        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

atter  all.  We're  inbred  too  damn'  much,  an' 
thet's  the  truth.  Charlie  ain't  good  enough 
f  er  ye,  'Liz  'beth ;  but  'e  's  the  best  we  've  got, 
an'  thet  settles  hit.  Ye'r'  old  enough  t'  be 
wed.  Charlie's  only  been  waitin'  fer  my 
word.  I'll  give  hit  t'  'im  now.  Ye  hear!" 
In  the  father's  voice  was  the  ring  of  patri- 
archal authority. 

The  girl  bowed  her  head  in  meek  assent 
to  the  implied  command,  though  she  felt  an 
inward  shudder  of  repulsion  as  the  face  of 
the  man  she  was  destined  to  marry  rose  be- 
fore her  mental  vision.  An  instinctive  de- 
sire at  least  to  postpone  this  final  bestowal 
of  herself  on  one  whom  she  detested  caused 
her  to  speak  for  the  first  time  since  she  had 
entered  the  room. 

'  '  Give  me  a  few  days,  to  prepare  myself. ' ' 
She  hesitated,  and  then  went  on,  almost 
timidly,  with  a  great  wistfulness  in  her  tones. 
"It's  a — sort  of  shock,  you  know." 

"Why,  'Liz 'beth,  ye  ain't  s 'prised  none, 
be  ye!"  the  father  exclaimed. 

"No,  not  surprised,  really,"  the  girl  ad- 
mitted. "But  now  that  it's  come,  it's 
a  shock  just  the  same,  even  though  I  was 
expecting   it.     I   reckon   it's   just   because 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        103 

that's  the  way  girls  are."  She  smiled  placat- 
ingly. 

The  chief  grunted  scornfully. 

"All  women's  cussed  foolishness!"  he  re- 
torted. Then  his  manner  softened.  "But 
ye  always  been  a  good  gal,  'Liz'beth,  an' 
thar  ain't  no  sech  a 'mighty  hurry  'bout  yer 
gittin'  spliced.  The  only  anxious  one,  I 
cal'late,  is  Charlie,  an'  'e  kin  stand  hit  fer 
a  few  days — leastways  'e'll  hev  tV 

The  princess  smiled  radiantly,  joyous  over 
having  achieved  her  object. 

"I'll  go  for  a  hunting  trip,"  she  an- 
nounced. "I'll  go  at  once.  I  don't  want  to 
meet  Charlie  until — afterward.  I'll  have 
Minnie  meet  me,  and  bring  rations." 

"All  right,"  came  the  father's  consent, 
and  he  nodded  dismissal. 

The  girl's  preparations  were  quickly  made. 
They  consisted  for  the  most  part  in  donning 
a  heavier  pair  of  moccasins,  in  slinging  the 
powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch  over  her 
shoulders,  in  a  hurried  summons  to  Minnie, 
her  most  intimate  companion,  to  whom  she 
gave  directions  to  meet  her  near  sundown 
at  the  secret  hunting  lodge  with  supplies. 
These  things  done,  Elizabeth,  carrying  her 


104        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

small-bore  rifle  with  its  octagonal  barrel, 
mounted  her  pony,  and  rode  swiftly  toward 
the  river,  with  intent  to  pass  in  solitude  the 
few  free  hours  that  still  remained  to  her  of 
maidenhood. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  princess  followed  a  trail  that  led 
to  the  westward  through  the  forest. 
When  she  reached  a  point  near  the  river,  she 
left  her  pony  tethered  in  a  thicket,  with  a 
feed  of  meal  from  a  bag  which  had  been 
hidden  in  the  underbrush.  Then  she  made 
her  way  on  foot  in  a  southwesterly  direction 
until  she  came  to  the  eastern  bluff  of  the 
Yadkin,  at  a  point  near  the  lower  end  of  the 
rapids.  It  was  here  that  the  hunting  lodge 
was  located,  the  whereabouts  of  which  she 
had  kept  jealously  guarded  as  a  secret  from 
every  one,  except  her  confidante,  Minnie. 
Soon  after  finding  the  place,  the  idea  of  build- 
ing a  shelter  there  had  occurred  to  her,  and 
with  her  friend's  aid  the  task  had  been  ac- 
complished. Chief  Lowrie  alone  knew  of  the 
existence  of  the  lodge,  but  even  he  was  ig- 
norant of  its  precise  location.  The  princess 
was  fond  of  wandering  in  the  wilderness  for 
days  at  a  time,  and  on  such  occasions  usually 

105 


106        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

returned  to  the  lodge  at  night,  where  Minnie 
would  meet  her  and  bear  her  company. 

Now  she  climbed  down  from  the  top  of  the 
bluff,  following  a  rough  and  precipitous  path 
in  a  rift  of  the  cliff.  This  brought  her  to 
a  broad  ledge,  overhung  by  the  hollowed 
rock  of  the  higher  cliff.  Thus  was  formed 
a  shallow  natural  cavern,  fronting  toward 
the  west  and  open  on  three  sides.  At  either 
end  was  rude  matting,  made  by  the  girls 
themselves  from  woven  sedge-grass,  sup- 
ported on  poles.  Protected  as  it  was  from 
the  north  and  the  east  winds,  the  cavern  was 
snug  enough  for  comfort  in  that  mild  climate. 
If  the  night  air  came  chill,  there  was  always 
a  brisk  fire  of  pine  knots  burning  on  the 
rocky  shelf.  For  the  rest,  the  lodge  was 
equipped  with  two  bunks  where  blankets 
were  spread  over  thick  layers  of  pine  needles. 
Deal  boards,  collected  from  a  pile  of  drift 
at  a  bend  in  the  river  below,  had  been  nailed 
to  a  section  of  stump  to  make  the  table. 
Other  bits  of  stump  served  in  lieu  of  chairs. 
A  few  cooking  utensils  completed  the  furnish- 
ings. 

There  would  still  be  many  hours  before 
sundown  and  the  coming  of  Minnie.     The 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        107 

princess  was  grateful  for  this  period  of  soli- 
tude. She  felt  that  she  must  commune  with 
herself  searchingly  over  the  change  that  was 
imminent  in  her  life.  Her  mood  was  an  ad- 
mixture of  melancholy  and  rebelliousness. 
She  was  half-frightened  at  herself  for  the 
bitterness  of  her  antagonism  to  the  project 
commanded  by  her  duty  to  her  father  and 
to  her  people. 

She  laid  down  the  rifle  and  placed  the 
powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch  with  it.  Then 
she  seated  herself  cross-legged  on  the  level 
stone,  and  stared  up  and  down  over  the  vast 
and  splendid  scene.  In  her  ears  was  the 
roaring  of  the  rapids,  but  softened  by  dis- 
tance. Usually,  Elizabeth  looked  long  in 
fascinated  wonder  at  the  seething  waters  in 
their  ceaseless  race  past  her  refuge.  The 
power  and  the  strangeness  of  them  never 
failed  to  excite  in  her  an  admiring  awe.  And 
she  loved  the  majestic,  yet  peaceful  pan- 
orama that  was  outspread  around  about. 
Always  hitherto  a  kindred  serenity  had 
stolen  into  her  soul  as  she  contemplated  the 
tranquil  beauty  of  the  valley  to  the  south.  To- 
day, it  was  more  than  ever  lovely,  for  field 
and  forest,  upland  and  bottom,  were  alike 


108        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

gorgeously  colored,  yet  in  most  delicate  har- 
mony of  tints,  by  the  autumn  air.  The  girl's 
mood,  however,  was  unsympathetic  to  the 
gracious  charm  of  nature.  Her  spirit  was 
in  turmoil.  Her  eyes  turned  inevitably  to 
the  rioting  waters  in  the  canyon.  She  felt 
within  herself  a  like  frantic,  though  invisible, 
struggle  to  escape.  The  near  prospect  of 
union  with  the  man  whom  her  father  had 
selected  appalled  her.  The  coarse-featured 
face  of  the  fellow  rose  in  her  memory,  and 
she  recoiled  from  it  in  loathing.  She  re- 
called how  once  he  had  tried  to  kiss  her — 
recalled,  too,  the  nausea  his  touch  had 
caused.  She  had  sought  to  evade  even  his 
gaze,  affronted  by  its  leering  attempt  at  in- 
timacy. She  realized  that  the  surrender  of 
herself  into  this  man's  keeping  would  tax 
her  to  the  utmost  of  her  strength.  She  had 
no  thought  of  resistance.  Her  ideal  of  con- 
duct demanded  this  sacrifice  of  herself.  But 
she  understood  that  she  would  have  need  of 
all  her  will  to  go  through  with  the  perform- 
ance of  her  duty  graciously.  She  thanked 
God  that  her  father  had  accorded  this  inter- 
val in  which  to  prepare  herself.  She  would 
have  need  of  it  to  the  full. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        109 

For  a  long  time  the  girl  sat  there,  brood- 
ing over  a  future  that  appeared  altogether 
dismal  and  repellent.  She  was  distraught 
with  apprehensions  concerning  the  life  that 
stretched  before  her.  Her  natural  intelli- 
gence had  been  broadened  by  education.  She 
could  not  doubt  that  this  union  with  a  man 
whom  she  so  detested  would  mean  unbroken 
misery.  Yet,  she  had  no  choice,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  save  to  accept  such  sorrow  for  her 
lot.  Thus  only  could  she  fulfill  the  obliga- 
tion imposed  upon  her  by  birth  as  daughter 
of  the  chief  of  the  Croatans.  She  sighed 
gently  in  a  tender  sadness  of  renunciation 
at  thought  of  the  ideal  man  of  her  dreams. 
Him  she  could  never  know.  She  could  never 
thrill  to  his  touch,  never  bask  in  the  ardor 
of  his  glances,  never  yield  herself  to  him  in 
lovers'  raptures.  Instead,  there  would  be 
only  and  always  Goins,  bestial  and  vicious, 
with  the  gorilla-like  arms  to  clasp  her,  with 
the  thick,  loose  lips  to  kiss  her.  She  shook  in 
a  spasm  of  anticipatory  dread.  The  tears 
of  a  self-pity  welled  from  the  limpid  eyes, 
and  trickled  slowly  over  the  velvet  curve  of 
the  cheeks.  And  ever  she  stared  downward 
at  the  mad  riot  of  the  canyon's  waters. 


110        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

She  saw  the  skiff  as  it  was  swept  into  the 
last,  most  furious  stage  of  the  rapids.  She 
uttered  an  ejaculation  of  horror  as  she 
realized  that  the  tiny  craft,  reeling  and  rush- 
ing with  the  raging  stream,  carried  two  men. 
It  seemed  certain  that  they  were  doomed  to 
destruction  in  the  cauldron  where  rock  and 
water  battled  so  unceasingly  against  each 
other,  but  joined  their  forces  to  annihilate 
any  that  came  between.  Her  spirit  grew 
faint  with  fear  for  the  two  hapless  victims  of 
the  river.  She  watched  the  craft's  wild 
flight  in  a  trance  of  terror.  It  was  a  recur- 
ring miracle  second  by  second  that  it  still 
remained  afloat  despite  the  constant  assaults 
on  every  side.  For  a  moment  she  even  ven- 
tured to  hope  that,  after  all,  the  final  miracle 
might  come  to  pass,  that  the  boat  might 
plunge  unscathed  into  the  pool  at  the  rapid's 
foot,  and  bear  its  freight  alive  out  of  the 
jaws  of  death. 

The  hope  was  killed  almost  in  the  instant 
that  gave  it  birth.  Aghast,  she  saw  the  skiff 
rise  high  in  air  as  if  driven  up  by  a  dyna- 
mite charge.  She  saw  it  swing  forward  in 
the  long  arc  of  its  fall  back  to  the  water.  She 
saw  it  crash  down  upon  the  rock,  saw  it  dis- 


THE  HOMEWABD  TRAIL        111 

integrate  before  her  eyes,  saw  its  occupants 
in  the  grip  of  the  river.  She  saw  one  man 
swept  by  an  eddy  toward  the  wall  on  her 
side  of  the  canyon.  She  saw  that  he  was 
apparently  uninjured,  for  he  was  swimming 
in  a  desperate  effort  not  to  be  carried  away 
into  the  resistless  grasp  of  the  channel  cur- 
rent. She  knew  that  there  was  a  chance  of 
life  for  him,  since  the  cliffs  were  much  broken 
at  this  point,  so  that,  could  he  attain  to  the 
river's  edge,  he  might  find  a  way  to  safety. 

But  that  other !  The  girl's  heart  stood  still 
in  dread.  It  seemed  impossible  that  he  could 
win  through.  In  another  moment,  a  cry  of 
pity  broke  from  her  lips.  She  could  not 
doubt  that  the  man  was  marked  for  death. 
Her  eyes  caught  the  white  blur  of  his  face 
as  it  gleamed  for  an  instant  and  was  gone, 
engulfed  by  the  torrent.  He  had  made  no 
struggle.  It  was  clear  that  he  had  been  ren- 
dered helpless  by  some  injury,  had  been  left 
the  toy  of  the  merciless  stream. 

Suddenly,  a  new  thought  broke  the  par- 
alysis of  fear  that  had  fallen  on  Elizabeth. 
It  was  the  thought  of  rescue.  The  possibility 
was  too  remote  for  credence,  yet  it  spurred 
her  to  action.    She  did  not  pause  to  consider 


112        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

her  course.  The  single  means  that  offered 
a  chance  of  success  flashed  on  her  conscious- 
ness. She  moved  with  swiftness  and  preci- 
sion, as  if  carrying  out  a  carefully  considered 
plan.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  went  hur- 
rying down  the  cliffs  toward  the  river. 

The  route  she  took  was  one  perilous  to 
the  careful  and  plodding  climber.  It  prom- 
ised to  prove  fatal  to  one  who  fled  at  such 
reckless  speed,  skirting  ledges  that  gave 
barely  foothold,  leaping  from  shelf  to  shelf 
where  any  slip  meant  death.  But  anxiety 
drove  the  girl  ever  faster,  regardless  of  the 
danger.  She  knew  the  need  of  haste — the 
vital  need.  She  must  reach  the  base  of  the 
cliffs  before  the  body  of  the  stricken  man 
was  borne  past  the  bend  in  the  river  a  little 
way  below.  The  winding  of  the  stream  gave 
her  a  slight  advantage.  There  was,  how- 
ever, no  time  for  painstaking  care  in  the 
descent,  if  she  would  not  be  too  late.  So  she 
darted  downward,  undeterred  by  risks  that 
seemed  certain  destruction.  It  was  only  the 
splendid  strength  of  her  and  the  perfect  co- 
ordination of  eye  and  muscle,  and,  above 
all,  the  brave  spirit  of  her  that  enabled  her 
to  cover  the  precarious  trail  unharmed. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        113 

At  the  very  end,  disaster  almost  over- 
whelmed her.  When  she  was  a  score  of  yards 
above  the  river,  whence  a  rough,  steep  slope 
ran  to  the  water,  a  fragment  of  rock  gave 
way  under  her  light  footfall.  She  stumbled, 
lost  her  footing  for  an  instant,  and  was 
thrown  from  her  balance,  though  she  did  not 
fall.  Nevertheless,  she  was  compelled  to 
continue  on  downward  at  increased  speed, 
powerless  to  check  her  headlong  career  over 
the  sharply  slanting  litter  of  broken  rocks. 
She  went  leaping  in  great  strides,  each 
longer  than  the  one  before.  At  the  river's 
brim,  she  sprang  high,  and  was  carried  out 
clear  of  the  bowlders  that  edged  the  stream. 
She  fell  uninjured  in  the  pool  formed  here 
by  a  backset  of  the  water  within  the  half- 
encircling  arm  of  rock  that  was  thrust  for- 
ward from  the  cliff. 

Elizabeth  knew  the  place  well.  In  the  air, 
she  had  turned  bodily  to  face  downstream. 
While  still  immersed,  she  began  swimming 
with  every  bit  of  her  strength  toward  the 
rocky  point  just  below,  which  bordered  that 
side  of  the  pool.  So  quick  was  her  effort, 
and  so  sturdy,  that  the  avaricious  hold  of 
the  water  was  powerless  against  her.    In  a 


114        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

moment,  she  had  reached  the  reef,  and 
clambered  out  upon  it,  uninjured. 

The  girl  could  not  pause  to  think  of  her 
own  escape.  Her  sole  concern  was  over  the 
man  whom  the  river  had  claimed  for  its  own. 
Was  she  in  time?  She  advanced  to  the 
farthest  point  of  rock  lying  above  the  sur- 
face. Beyond  her  the  stone  showed  dimly 
a  little  way  under  water.  If  the  body  were 
swept  just  here,  it  would  move  a  little  more 
slowly,  being  rolled  over  and  over  along  the 
rocky  shelf.  Here,  if  anywhere,  was  the 
solitary  opportunity  to  effect  a  rescue.  But 
was  she  in  time  f  Elizabeth  straightened  and 
gazed  with  straining  eyes  over  the  tortuous 
length  of  pounding  waters  upstream. 

Almost  instantly,  she  glimpsed  him. 

The  face  vanished,  reappeared  yards  lower 
down.  Elizabeth  knew  that  the  moment  had 
come.  It  was  now,  or  forever  too  late.  The 
one  poor  chance  for  this  stranger's  life  was 
in  her  hands.  She  nerved  herself  for  the 
ordeal.  The  body  would  be  floundering  past 
her  in  another  instant.  She  half-crouched, 
tense,  expectant,  a-quiver  with  eagerness. 

The  body  was  swept  into  view.  It  came 
tumbling — as    she    had    known    it    would — 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        115 

through  the  shallows  over  the  rocky  shelf. 
It  was  there  before  her  now,  ready  to  her 
grasp.  Her  heart  jumped,  then  missed  a 
beat.  The  body  would  pass  just  beyond  her 
reach. 

She  did  not  hesitate  in  the  least,  but 
stepped  into  the  race  of  smooth  water  that 
slid  over  the  submerged  rock. 

The  slithering  quiet  of  the  surface  masked 
a  treacherous  fierceness  below.  The  current 
clamped  like  a  vice  on  her  leg  and  pulled 
her  down.  But,  as  she  fell,  her  left  hand 
lunged  forward — caught  a  grip  in  the  man's 
long  hair,  and  held.  Her  other  hand,  when 
she  struck  the  water,  quested  wildly  for  a 
hold  on  the  slimy  stone.  She  was  swept 
along  a  short  distance,  then  her  fingers 
found  their  opportunity  in  a  tiny  rift.  The 
fingers  clutched  convulsively.  She  held  her- 
self against  the  savage  dragging  of  the 
stream.  She  was  able  to  lift  her  head  above 
the  water,  and  to  take  a  long  breath.  She 
rested  a  moment  to  prepare  for  the  final  con- 
test. The  beating  of  the  current  against  the 
man's  inert  form  wrenched  the  arm  that  held 
him,  so  that  the  pain  of  it  was  almost  in- 
tolerable.   The  strain  on  the  other  arm  was 


116        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

steadier,  but  the  anguish  from  it  was  even 
greater.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  no 
strength  left  for  any  slightest  movement. 
Nevertheless,  she  meant  to  try  still  further, 
to  the  utmost,  for  her  life  and  for  his — if  it 
yet  remained  in  him. 

Presently,  she  bestirred  herself  to  action. 
Very  cautiously,  she  moved  one  foot  over 
the  slippery  stone.  The  toes  within  the 
flexible  moccasins  sought  a  fissure  or  a  pro- 
jection to  which  to  cling.  And,  very  soon, 
a  cleft  place  offered  a  safe  foothold.  Then, 
the  search  was  continued  with  the  other  foot 
— successfully,  at  last.  Still  moving  with  the 
utmost  care,  she  got  to  her  knees.  The  pull 
of  the  current  on  the  body  was  such  that  she 
could  not  flex  the  muscles  of  the  arm  that 
held  it,  and  her  suffering  from  the  strain 
was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear,  but 
she  set  her  teeth,  and  endured  it.  The  tax 
on  the  other  arm  was  relaxed,  since  the  feet 
had  come  to  its  support.  This  partial  relief 
comforted  her,  and  cheered  her  to  renewed 
endeavor.  She  secured  a  safer  hand-hold. 
So,  with  tedious  slowness,  in  physical  tor- 
ment from  the  buffeting  of  the  current 
against  her  and  against  the  burden  she  bore, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        117 

Elizabeth  crawled  to  the  bank.  There,  in  a 
last  frenzied  output  of  waning  strength,  she 
hauled  the  body  of  the  man  after  her,  clear 
of  the  river's  clutch.  She  did  not  know 
whether  he  was  alive  or  dead.  For  the  mo- 
ment, she  hardly  cared.  Beside  the  twisted, 
sodden  figure  of  the  man,  she  sprawled  in 
collapse,  now  that  the  ordeal  was  ended,  and 
lay  in  a  stupor  of  fatigue. 


CHAPTEK  XI 

THE  princess  moved  slightly  and  moaned 
like  a  hurt  child.  She  remembered 
dully  the  man  she  had  seen  in  the  rapids, 
her  run  down  the  cliffs,  her  fight  against 
the  voracious  river.  It  all  seemed  to  have 
happened  ages  and  ages  ago,  in  some  other 
strange  lifetime.  Then,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  her  consciousness  cleared.  She 
recollected  every  detail  distinctly.  She  sat 
erect  with  quick  energy,  though  the  motion 
of  her  stiffened  muscles  was  torture.  She 
looked  down  at  the  still  form  by  her  side. 
Was  he  dead?  Had  her  fierce  struggle  in 
his  behalf  been  all  in  vain? 

She  stoically  disregarded  her  own  physical 
misery,  and  set  herself  to  complete  the  work 
she  had  begun — if  indeed  it  were  not  already 
too  late.  She  bent  over  the  body,  and  thrust 
her  hand  within  the  bosom.  To  her  joy,  she 
detected  a  beating  of  the  heart,  feeble  and 

broken,  but  unmistakable  none  the  less.    New 

118 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        119 

strength  flowed  into  her  from  this  encour- 
agement, and  she  entered  on  the  task  of 
restoration  with  hopeful  vigor.  She  turned 
the  man  on  his  face,  with  his  head  down  the 
slope,  in  order  to  clear  Ms  lungs  of  the  water 
he  had  swallowed.  Then  she  turned  him 
back,  and  seized  his  arms  and  worked  them 
to  stimulate  the  breathing.  She  disregarded 
the  cut  on  his  head,  which  had  doubtless 
stunned  him.  The  immersion  in  the  stream 
had  kept  it  open,  but  now  the  blood  was 
clotting  and  only  a  little  flowed  sluggishly 
from  the  gash.  The  wound  must  await  its 
turn.  Death  from  drowning  was  the  vital 
peril. 

There  came  a  choking  gasp  from  the  un- 
conscious man;  his  body  was  racked  by  a 
convulsive  shudder.  The  girl  hastily  pulled 
him  about,  so  that  his  head  was  on  the  higher 
ground.  This  done,  she  stood  erect,  and 
looked  down  into  his  face.  She  was  thrilled 
to  see  that  the  eyes  were  open  and  gazing 
dazedly  up  at  her.  In  the  same  second,  the 
lids  fell,  and  remained  fast  shut.  Elizabeth 
bent  close  and  watched,  and  saw  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  chest  in  the  rhythm  of  breathing. 
Triumph  filled  her.     She  alone  had  fought 


120        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

for  this  man,  and  she  had  brought  him  alive 
back  from  the  very  gates  of  death. 
"Hi,  there!" 

Elizabeth  looked  up  in  astonishment,  as 
there  fell  on  her  ears  this  hail  in  a  high 
nasal  voice.  She  saw  on  a  ledge  some  rods 
above  her  a  man  in  garments  which,  though 
they  clung  to  him  dripping  wet,  were  plainly 
several  sizes  too  large  for  the  emaciated 
frame.  The  face,  too,  was  gaunt,  but  its 
thinness  was  half-concealed  by  a  short  growth 
of  stiff  red  whiskers.  The  hatless  head 
showed  a  thatch  of  like  ruddy  color,  made 
sleek  for  the  moment  by  water.  The  girl 
knew  that  this  must  be  the  other  occupant 
of  the  boat.  The  fact  was  confirmed  in  the 
fellow's  next  words. 

"You've  got  him!"  There  was  great  ex- 
citement in  his  tone.    "Is  he  alive?" 

The  princess  nodded. 

"Come  on  down  and  help,"  she  com- 
manded. 

She  studied  the  man  curiously  as  he  hur- 
ried down  the  descent  toward  her.  While 
he  was  yet  some  distance  from  her,  she  spoke 
with  a  singularly  impersonal  note  of  disdain. 

"You're  a  damn'  Yank'."    She  was  quite 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        121 

unaware  that  she  used  the  profane  adjective, 
so  familiar  had  it  become  on  the  lips  of  those 
about  her.  "Is  he  one?"  Her  glance  went 
to  the  face  of  the  unconscious  youth  lying 
beside  her. 

Morris  shook  his  head  in  violent  dissent. 

"He's  a  Johnny  Reb,  all  right,"  he  de- 
clared. "He  saved  me  from  the  river  when 
the  bloodhounds  was  after  me,  and  so  he  sort 
of  had  me  on  his  hands.  But  there's  more  to 
it  than  that,"  he  added,  as  he  came  to  a  halt 
by  the  girl.     "It's  a  long  story." 

"No  time  for  it  now,"  Elizabeth  stated, 
with  cold  authority.  "We've  got  to  get  him 
up  the  cliffs  in  a  hurry,  wiiere  he  can  be  dry 
and  warm." 

Morris  cast  a  doubtful  eye  up  the  way 
along  which  he  had  just  come. 

"That  Salisbury  prison  kinder  took  the 
tuck  out  of  me,"  he  admitted.  "I'm  too 
darn'  puny  for  any  use." 

"I  'low  you  can  help  some,"  was  the  an- 
swer. "Cut  two  birch  poles  about  eight  foot 
long. ' ' 

"Hain't  got  any  knife,"  Morris  objected, 
"They  didn't  leave  us  anything  there  in  the 
stockade." 


122        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

Elizabeth  bent  over  the  form  of  the  man 
she  had  rescued,  and  searched  the  pockets. 
She  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  satisfaction  as 
she  drew  out  a  big  clasp-knife. 

6 l  There !"  she  exclaimed,  and  tossed  it  to 
the  Union  soldier,  who  caught  it  and  straight- 
way set  about  the  task  she  had  imposed. 

When,  after  a  little,  he  returned  with 
the  required  lengths  of  sapling,  the  girl  was 
in  readiness  with  David's  coat,  which  she 
had  removed,  and  some  strips  of  worn  can- 
vas, which  she  had  brought  from  the  heap 
of  drift  at  the  edge  of  the  inset.  With  Mor- 
ris' aid,  she  buttoned  the  coat  over  the  two 
poles,  and,  to  make  it  more  secure,  cut  slits 
in  it,  and  laced  the  two  sides  firmly  together 
with  the  latches  from  her  moccasins.  The 
pieces  of  canvas  were  bound  on,  to  increase 
the  length  of  the  supporting  part  in  this  im- 
provised litter.  She  added  also  the  belt  from 
her  waist  at  a  point  where  it  would  support 
the  body  at  the  knees.  To  complete  the  work 
to  her  satisfaction,  she  removed  the  moun- 
taineer's suspenders,  and  made  a  mesh  of 
them  for  a  head-rest. 

"Now  help  me  lift  him,"  came  the  curt 
order.    She  herself  took  the  body  under  the 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        123 

arms,  and  carried  most  of  the  weight,  as 
they  raised  it  and  placed  it  on  the  narrow 
litter. 

"I'll  take  the  foot,"  she  explained.  "It 
will  be  heavier  going  up,  and  I'm  stronger 
than  you.  Go  on  down  the  bank  a  little  way. 
You'll  see  a  path  up  that's  easier." 

Morris  seized  the  poles,  and  went  forward 
obediently.  With  the  girl's  voice  guiding 
him,  he  duly  turned  into  the  trail  that  led 
upward.  It  was  an  arduous  ascent.  It  taxed 
the  strength  of  the  girl  on  whom  most  of 
the  burden  rested.  It  was  almost  too  much 
for  the  debilitated  fugitive,  whose  weakness 
had  been  increased  greatly  by  the  experiences 
of  the  day.  But,  with  many  rests  on  the 
way,  the  work  was  at  last  achieved,  and  the 
summit  of  the  bluff  attained.  Afterward,  it 
was  a  simple  matter  to  carry  the  litter  along 
the  comparatively  level  top,  to  the  point 
above  the  hunting  lodge,  and  thus  down  the 
short  descent  to  the  cavern  itself.  As  they 
came  to  the  place,  Morris  cried  out  in  sur- 
prise, and  uttered  numerous  questions,  to 
which  the  girl  gave  absolutely  no  heed. 

"Help  me  get  him  into  this  bunk,"  she 
ordered  the  wondering  soldier.    When  this 


124        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

had  been  accomplished,  she  brought  a  flask 
of  peach  brandy  from  the  stores  in  the  lodge, 
and  with  some  difficulty  managed  to  make 
David  swallow  a  little.  "Now  you  get  his 
clothes  off,  and  rub  him  dry,  and  wrap  him 
up  well  in  the  blanket."  She  dropped  a 
towel  on  the  bunk,  and  turned  away.  "I'll 
get  some  water  to  bathe  his  wound,"  she 
added.    She  took  up  a  tin  pail  and  went  out. 

When  Morris  had  done,  he  issued  from  the 
cavern,  and  found  her  waiting  for  him.  She 
gave  him  instructions  for  building  a  fire  of 
pine  knots  at  the  entrance,  and  then  went 
within.  She  bathed  the  injured  man's  head 
with  the  cold  water  from  the  spring,  and 
bandaged  it  neatly.  Afterward,  she  gave 
him  more  of  the  brandy,  which  he  now  took 
readily,  whereat  the  girl  sighed  in  relief. 

Morris  came  and  stood  looking  down  at 
David  with  an  expression  of  deep  solicitude 
on  his  homely  face. 

"Oughter  have  a  doctor,"  he  remarked 
gloomily. 

But  Elizabeth  moved  her  head  in  negation 
that  seemed  strangely  emphatic.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  she  already  felt  a  proprietary 
interest  in  this  bit  of  flotsam  which  she  had 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        125 

plucked  from  the  river,  and  she  meant  to 
make  the  saving  of  him  her  own  exclusive 
work.  She  resented  the  soldier's  suggestion 
from  an  instinct  of  jealousy  lest  any  other 
should  interfere  between  her  and  the  com- 
pletion of  her  work. 

"This  cut  on  his  head  isn't  very  bad,"  she 
said;  and  her  voice  was  a  little  sharp.  "I've 
cleaned  it  and  done  it  up.  Pretty  soon  I'll 
have  some  salve  to  put  on  it."  She  glanced 
toward  the  westering  sun,  which  was  now 
close  to  the  horizon,  and  knew  that  Minnie 
would  speedily  be  at  her  service  to  send  for 
the  supplies  needed  in  the  sick  man's  behalf. 
She  turned  her  eyes  to  David,  and  noted  the 
slight  dew  of  sweat  on  his  forehead.  "No," 
she  concluded  decisively,  "he  won't  have  any 
chill  now,  and  that's  what  I  was  most  afraid 
of.  No,  he  won't  need  any  doctor.  We'll 
nurse  him  between  us." 

Morris,  more  than  ever  bewildered,  choked 
back  the  questions  that  crowded  to  his  lips. 
There  was  much  concerning  which  he  would 
have  liked  to  ask,  but  somehow  the  manner 
of  this  extraordinary  girl,  so  beautiful,  so 
dominant,  and  so  efficient,  halted  the  expres- 
sion of  his  inquisitiveness.    Without  ventur- 


126        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

ing  any  further  remark,  lie  went  out  of  the 
cavern,  and  squatted  on  the  far  side  of  the 
fire,  close  by  the  flames,  to  dry  his  clothes, 
and  incidentally  to  ponder  in  great  perplexity 
the  remarkable  situation  with  which  he  found 
himself  confronted. 

It  was  perhaps  half  an  hour  later,  and  the 
cavern  was  beginning  to  fill  with  the  shadows 
of  dusk,  when  at  last  David  stirred  feebly. 
His  eyelids  unclosed,  and  he  gazed  up  dream- 
ily into  the  face  bending  over  so  near  to 
his  own.  There  was  only  a  lazy  contentment 
in  his  regard  at  first.  But,  presently,  this 
vanished.  The  eyes  narrowed  a  little  and 
grew  brighter.  Amazement  glowed  in  them. 
His  lips  moved,  but  the  words  were  inaudible. 
The  girl  put  her  ear  close  to  his  mouth,  and 
listened,  and  heard  the  whisper: 

"Who  are  your' 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  answering  voice  came  in  a  mnsic  that 
was  inexpressibly  soothing  to  the  lad 
who  listened.  The  sound  of  it  charmed  his 
spirit,  though  the  words  so  softly  spoken 
scarcely  penetrated  his  consciousness. 

"I  am  Elizabeth,  the  daughter  of  Chief 
Lowrie,  of  the  Croatans." 

"How  did  I  git  here?  Where  is  this  place, 
anyhow  ? ' '  David  demanded.  He  was  anxious 
to  know  something  concerning  his  surround- 
ings and  the  events  that  had  brought  him 
hither ;  but  he  was  more  anxious  to  hear  again 
the  melodious  cadences  of  that  voice. 

"You  were  in  our  country — you  and  your 
companion — when  you  were  wrecked  in  the 
rapids.  We  brought  you  here  as  the  near- 
est place.' ' 

David's  eyes  left  the  girl's  face  for  the 
first  time.  He  looked  about  the  chamber  in- 
quiringly. 

"We!"  he  questioned. 

127 


128        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

1 '  The  man  who  was  with  you  helped  me  to 
bring  you  up  here,''  she  responded.  "The 
Yankee  soldier  from  the  prison,"  she  added, 
answering  the  young  man's  puzzled  glance. 

David's  face  cleared. 

"Oh,  Morris !"  he  exclaimed.  Full  mem- 
ory rushed  back  on  him.  He  remembered 
that  last  instant  of  consciousness,  when  the 
waters  had  closed  over  him,  and  there  had 
come  the  stabbing  pain  through  his  head. 
"Morris  escaped  then?" 

"Yes." 

"Somethin'  must  have  hit  me  on  the 
head,"  David  murmured,  more  to  himself 
than  to  the  girl. 

But  she  heard  and  answered  him. 

"Your  head  was  cut  on  a  rock.  I  have 
bound  it  up.  It  will  be  sore,  but  it's  nothing 
very  serious." 

David  put  his  hand  to  his  head  and  touched 
the  bandage  gingerly,  wincing  as  he  did  so. 

"I  'low  yeVe  been  plumb  kind  t'  me,  Miss 
Elizabeth."  He  smiled  in  warm  gratitude, 
which  was  not  the  less  because  of  the  radiant 
loveliness  of  the  face  into  which  he  looked. 
He  experienced  a  thrill  of  pleasure  in  this 
intimate  association  with  a  woman  unlike 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        129 

any  lie  had  ever  known.  She  bore  herself 
with  a  dignity  that  was  unfamiliar  in  his  ex- 
perience, but  had  in  it  something  singularly 
attractive.  In  this  case,  the  effect  was  sof- 
tened by  the  beauty  of  her  face  and  by  the 
gentle  kindliness  of  her  manner  toward  him. 
He  felt  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  being 
superior  to  any  he  had  ever  known  before. 
Yet,  she  was  in  no  wise  repellent  or  aloof. 
Rather,  she  displayed  toward  him  an  amia- 
bility at  once  maternal  and  tender.  The  fact 
that  she  had  wrought  the  rescue  of  this  man 
aroused  in  her  of  itself  a  profound  interest, 
and  this  interest  she  unconsciously  revealed. 
Its  effect  on  the  object  of  it  was  immediate 
and  pervasive.  Though  he  did  not  as  yet 
know  that  he  was  indebted  to  the  girl  for  his 
life,  he  already  felt  drawn  to  her  with  an 
emotional  intensity  that  was  startling,  yet 
delightful.  Under  her  direction,  he  drank 
again  of  the  brandy,  and  soon  was  able  to 
speak  aloud,  though  weakly. 

Morris,  from  his  place  outside  beyond  the 
fire,  heard  the  two  voices,  and  came  hurrying 
into  the  cavern,  which  was  now  lighted  only 
by  the  flames. 

" Hurrah !"  he  cried,  as  he  came  up  to  the 


130        THE  HOMEWABD  TEAIL 

bunk.  He  got  hold  of  one  of  David's  limp 
hands,  and  shook  it  heartily.  "Feelin'  fit 
as  a  fiddle — I  don't  think  !"  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  chuckle.  "You  gotter  thank  this  girl 
here  that  you  can  feel  anything  at  all.  How 
she  ever  did  haul  you  out  of  them  rapids 
I  don't  know.  I  hain't  hearn  the  story  yet, 
and  I  wasn't  there  to  see.  But  I  do  know 
for  myself  that  she's  mighty  spry,  and  pow- 
erful as  a  man." 

David  regarded  the  girl  with  new  wonder 
and  respect,  and,  too,  with  a  sense  of  vital 
relationship. 

"You — you-all  pulled  me  out?"  he  ques- 
tioned, half -timidly. 

Elizabeth  showed  no  embarrassment.  She 
had  done  the  thing,  and  it  was  not  to  be  de- 
nied or  belittled.  The  honesty  of  her  char- 
acter caused  her  to  speak  frankly. 

"I  saw  you  upset.  I  was  up  here.  There 
was  just  a  chance.  I  took  it.  I  got  down  to 
the  point  below  in  time  to  catch  you.  It  was 
close  work.  I  thought  once  I  couldn't  do  it. 
But  it  came  out  all  right." 

David  looked  into  the  limpid  brown  eyes 
of  the  girl  with  a  reverent  admiration. 

"Ye  put  yerself  in  danger  t'  save  me !"  he 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        131 

said  softly.  There  was  such  a  tone  of  feel- 
ing in  his  voice  that  for  the  first  time  Eliza- 
beth was  a  little  confused.  But  she  answered 
as  candidly  as  before. 

"Yes.  There  was  no  other  way."  She  as- 
sumed an  air  of  brisk  command.  "And  now 
you  must  rest."  She  turned  toward  Morris. 
"You  go,"  she  bade  him.  Then  she  spoke 
again  to  her  patient.  "You  must  sleep.  I'll 
watch  by  you.  Go  to  sleep."  Almost  in- 
stantly, David  obeyed. 

It  was  a  half -hour  later  when  a  sound  of 
voices  from  outside  attracted  the  attention 
of  Elizabeth.  A  glance  at  her  patient  showed 
that  he  was  sleeping  soundly.  She  got  up 
quietly,  and  went  out  to  investigate.  Within 
the  circle  of  light  from  the  flames,  the  Union 
soldier  was  standing  with  his  arms  stiffly 
stretched  above  his  head  and  an  expres- 
sion in  which  surprise,  chagrin  and  fear 
were  blended  on  his  uncomely  features.  As 
Elizabeth  appeared  on  the  scene,  a  high 
feminine  voice  came  incisively  from  out  the 
night's  shadows. 

"Now  turn  yer  back,  an'  keep  yer  han's 
up ! "  The  last  words  were  spoken  with  men- 
acing emphasis. 


132        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

Morris,  as  he  turned,  saw  Elizabeth,  and 
his  face  lighted  in  relief.  He  called  out 
whiningly. 

"Say,  miss,  can't  you  call  off  this  durned 
she  wildcat?  She's  drawed  a  gun  on  me, 
and  stuck  me  up,  and  if  she  ain't  just  plain 
crazy,  I  miss  my  guess.  She's  been  ravin' 
about  some  princess,  and  accusin'  me  of 
havin'  her  tucked  away  in  a  pocket  some- 
wheres." 

"You  can  put  down  your  hands,"  Eliza- 
beth vouchsafed,  and  as  Morris  complied 
with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  she  called  in  a 
louder  tone:  "It's  all  right,  Minnie.  You 
needn't  be  worried  any  about  this  man." 
Unconsciously,  she  spoke  with  a  contemp- 
tuous inflection,  under  which  the  fugitive 
writhed.  There  and  then  was  born  in  his 
heart  a  feeling  of  enmity  against  the  girl  who 
was  herself  so  strong  and  competent,  and 
who  regarded  him  in  his  weakness  so  scorn- 
fully. 

Minnie  stepped  within  the  lighted  space  by 
the  fire.  She  was  a  pretty  girl,  much  smaller 
than  the  princess,  of  a  more  markedly  In- 
dian type,  very  vivacious  and  intelligent. 
Under  her  arm  was  the  rifle  which  she  had 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        133 

held  trained  on  Morris.  Her  explanation 
was  to  the  point. 

"I  saw  this  man  an'  hailed  him.  I  knew 
he  was  a  damn'  Yank'  soon's  he  spoke.  I 
asked  him  whar  you-all  was,  an*  he  said  he 
didn't  know  anything  'bout  ye.  So  I  stuck 
him  up." 

Morris  broke  in  indignantly. 

* '  She  never  said  a  blamed  word  about  you, 
miss — just  some  highfalutin  josh  about  a 
princess.  Ain't  the  little  spitfire  crazy  as  a 
loon?" 

The  answer  came  with  a  serene  dignity 
that  left  the  New  Englander  utterly  flab- 
bergasted. 

"I  am  the  Princess  Elizabeth." 

Having  thus  said,  the  girl  ignored  Morris, 
and  spoke  briefly  to  her  friend.  She  ex- 
plained what  had  occurred,  and  sent  Minnie 
to  bring  the  additional  supplies  required  for 
the  injured  man. 

While  awaiting  her  messenger's  return, 
Elizabeth  reentered  the  cavern,  and  took  her 
place  beside  the  sleeping  man.  It  was  only 
after  considerable  hesitation  that  Morris 
ventured  to  approach  her.  He  was  in  a  state 
of  almost  ludicrous  bewilderment.    He  could 


134        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

by  no  means  solve  the  puzzle  of  this  girl, 
who  was  at  once  so  beautiful  and  so  capable, 
who  spoke  with  a  propriety  that  even  his 
unaccustomed  ears  appreciated  to  some  ex- 
tent, who  was  called  a  princess,  and  herself 
claimed  the  rank.  He  recognized  his  own 
inferiority  to  her,  and  he  knew  that  she,  too, 
recognized  it.  The  fact  filled  him  with  bit- 
terness, which  was  the  more  humiliating  be- 
cause he  was  now  dependent  upon  her  bounty 
for  food  and  shelter  and  protection  in  this 
country  of  his  enemies.  A  princess  who 
lived  in  a  cave !  He  was  baffled  by  the  mys- 
tery of  it  all,  and  exasperated  by  his  own 
helplessness.  It  was  his  hunger  that  com- 
pelled him  to  address  her. 

Elizabeth  frowned  at  his  approach,  and 
lifted  a  warning  finger,  lest  he  disturb  the 
sleeper.  So  Morris  came  on  tiptoe,  and  in 
a  whisper  asked  for  something  to  eat.  The 
girl  pointed  toward  the  shelves  stocked  with 
provisions. 

"Help  yourself,"  she  said  indifferently. 

The  man  made  a  full  meal,  but  it  was  un- 
favored by  gratitude. 

When  Minnie  returned,  the  two  girls 
rigged   a  blanket   across   a   corner   of   the 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        135 

cavern  to  form  a  private  chamber.  Then,  as 
a  little  fever  set  in,  and  David  became  rest- 
less, Elizabeth  redressed  the  wound  with  a 
healing  ointment,  and  afterward  soothed  him 
with  repeated  applications  of  the  cold  spring 
water  on  his  head.  Morris  was  given  the 
second  bunk,  and  Minnie  slept  on  blankets  in 
the  curtained  corner.  But  Elizabeth,  despite 
the  strain  to  which  she  had  been  subjected 
in  the  day's  adventure,  watched  over  David 
in  wakeful  solicitude  through  all  the  long 
hours  of  the  night.  It  was  not  until  after 
dawn,  when  Minnie  had  arisen,  that  she 
shared  the  meal  prepared  by  her  friend,  and 
then  took  a  few  hours  for  her  own  repose. 

When  she  reappeared,  Elizabeth  found 
David  just  waking  from  a  refreshing  sleep. 
Only  a  slight  trace  of  the  fever  remained. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  she  asked. 

"As  a  b'ar!"  he  declared  promptly.  His 
voice  showed  how  greatly  he  had  improved. 

Though  David  protested  that  he  was  no 
longer  an  invalid,  Elizabeth  regulated  his 
diet  with  scrupulous  nicety.  She  was  indeed 
over-careful  throughout  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed, even  absurdly  solicitous  for  the  health 
of  this  man  whom  she  regarded  as  her  own 


136        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

personal  responsibility  since  she  had  saved 
him  from  the  river.  She  early  admitted  the 
truth  that  this  stranger  whom  fate  had 
brought  filled  all  the  requirements  of  her 
ideal  mate.  It  almost  seemed  to  her  that 
her  heart  had  gone  out  to  him  at  the  first 
instant  of  seeing  his  face.  She  accepted  the 
fact  of  her  love  for  him,  and  rejoiced  in  it. 
It  never  occurred  to  her  to  doubt  that  her 
love  would  be  returned.  Though  her  charge 
spoke  no  word  of  direct  tenderness,  his  eyes 
were  eloquent,  and  his  tones  were  vibrant 
with  a  feeling  that  found  its  response  in  her 
breast.  Morris,  always  ill  at  ease  in  the 
presence  of  the  princess,  spent  most  of  his 
time  smoking  on  the  ledge  before  the  cavern. 
Minnie  was  absent  a  great  part  of  the  time. 
In  consequence,  Elizabeth  and  David  were 
for  the  most  part  alone  together,  and  in- 
evitably the  intimacy  between  them  devel- 
oped by  leaps  and  bounds.  The  young  man 
was  in  the  throes  of  a  great  passion,  though 
he  refused  to  confess  the  truth  to  himself. 
The  duty  of  loyalty  to  Ruth  sealed  his  lips 
to  any  word  of  love.  But  duty  was  power- 
less to  stem  the  emotion  that  surged  within 
him.    He  denied  his  heart  for  very  shame, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        137 

but  he  knew  the  denial  was  a  lie.  And,  too, 
often  shame  vanished,  and  in  its  stead  was 
exultation  over  the  loveliness  and  the  worth 
of  this  wonder-woman  who  ministered  to 
him.  From  hour  to  hour,  from  day  to  day, 
he  lived  in  a  glamour.  He  dared  not  face 
the  future ;  he  turned  away  resolutely  from 
the  past.  But  in  the  present  he  was  divinely 
blest. 

It  was  on  the  sixth  day  after  the  rescue 
of  David  from  the  rapids  that  Elizabeth 
called  Morris  to  her,  and  gave  him  an  order. 

"Take  my  rifle,  and  go  out  and  get  some 
fox  squirrels.' f 

The  girl's  cool  tone  was  disdainful  as  al- 
ways when  she  addressed  this  enemy  from 
the  North. 

The  soldier  took  the  weapon,  and  went 
obediently;  but  within  him  the  smoldering 
hostility  threatened  to  burst  into  a  blaze. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CHIEF  LOWRIE  and  his  lieutenant, 
Goins,  were  riding  through  the  forest 
some  half-dozen  miles  to  the  northwest  of 
the  Croatan  camp,  on  their  return  from  a 
scouting  expedition,  which  had  in  prospect 
a  raid  for  plunder.  The  sharp  report  of  a 
rifle  sounded  near,  and  caused  the  two  men 
to  regard  each  other  in  surprise,  since  none 
of  the  tribe  was  likely  to  be  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. But,  in  another  moment,  a  thought 
came  to  the  chief,  which  caused  him  to  urge 
his  pony  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  There 
was  something  familiar  in  the  note  of  the 
weapon,  and  he  recalled  the  fact  that  his 
daughter  was  still  isolated  somewhere  in  this 
vicinity.  It  seemed  to  him  probable  that  it 
was  she  who  had  fired  the  shot.  He  was 
anxious  for  her  return  home.  So,  now,  he 
pressed  forward  in  the  hope  of  meeting  her 
and  making  known  his  wish.  Goins  followed 
his  leader,  mildly  curious  as  to  who  the 
hunter  might  be. 

138 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        139 

As  the  two  horsemen  rode  into  a  little  glade 
within  the  wood,  they  saw  a  man  stand- 
ing with  rifle  grounded,  who  was  an  utter 
stranger.  The  fellow  faced  the  newcomers 
with  an  attempt  at  bravado,  which  was  visi- 
bly denied  by  the  involuntary  shrinking  of 
his  body.  The  whole  effect  of  the  stranger 
in  his  ill-fitting  garments  and  with  his  gaunt 
face  half -hidden  by  the  short  red  beard,  was 
such  as  to  provoke  suspicion.  There  was 
something  outlandish  about  him,  something 
that  declared  he  did  not  belong  in  the  region, 
even  before  he  opened  his  mouth.  For  a 
few  seconds,  the  Croatans  scrutinized  the 
hunter  with  sharp  glances.  Then,  suddenly, 
the  chief's  brows  drew  down  in  a  black 
frown.  His  heavy  voice  boomed  out,  stri- 
dent and  menacing.  At  the  first  sound  of 
it,  the  stranger  recoiled  a  pace  as  if  from  a 
blow. 

"Whar  did  ye  git  thet-thar  rifle?"  Lowrie 
demanded.  His  eyes  glowered  savagely. 
Then,  as  the  other  hesitated,  confused  by  the 
fierceness  of  the  unexpected  query,  the  chief 
continued  even  more  harshly  in  direct  accusa- 
tion. 

" Thet-thar  rifle's  my  darter's.     Whar'd 


140        THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL 

ye  git  hit?  Speak  up  damn'  quick,  if  ye 
wanter  save  yer  wuthless  hide." 

The  unhappy  Morris,  for  the  hunter  was 
he,  was  momentarily  stricken  speechless  by 
the  verbal  onslaught.  He  stood  in  dumb  con- 
sternation, his  pale,  red-rimmed  eyes  dilated 
in  fear,  his  jaw  sagging.  The  chief  leaped 
from  his  saddle  with  an  agility  astonishing 
in  one  of  his  bulk.  He  strode  close  to  the 
soldier,  and  towered  over  him  threateningly. 

"Whar's  my  gal,  ye  whelp!"  he  demanded 
furiously.  "Find  yer  tongue,  er  I'll  find  hit 
fer  ye." 

The  fear  that  had  held  Morris  speechless 
now  drove  him  to  utterance.  He  babbled 
quaveringly,  brokenly. 

"The  girl  give  it  to  me  herself — the  girl 
that  says  she's  a  princess — she  sent  me  to 
shoot  squirrels — I  hain't  stole  the  gun — I 
hain't  done  nothin'  at  all,  mister — " 

The  stammering  whine  broke  off,  for  the 
huge  hand  of  the  chief  fell  on  his  shoulder, 
and  he  was  shaken  like  a  rat  in  the  jaws  of 
a  terrier.  When  Lowrie  let  go  his  hold, 
Morris  staggered  and  fell,  and  then  sat  cring- 
ing abjectly  while  his  assailant  spoke  again. 

"YeV  a  poor  liar,  ye  damn'  Yank'.    My 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        141 

darter  ain't  runnin'  the  country  with  sich  as 
you-all  scum  out  o '  Salisbury.  Ye  don 't  need 
t'  more'n  open  yer  yawp  t'  tell  whar  ye  come 
from.  An'  yell  be  back  thar  sudden,  if  I 
don't  kill  ye  fust."  His  voice,  which  had 
lightened  a  little,  burst  in  a  mighty  roar. 

"Whar's  my  darter?" 

Morris  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  remained 
half-crouched  in  terror,  ready  for  instant 
flight  if  an  opportunity  came.  But,  as  the 
chief  stood  waiting  for  an  answer,  the  sol- 
dier's brain  cleared  a  little.  He  guessed  that 
the  strange  girl  who  had  given  him  the  rifle 
was  in  fact  the  daughter  of  this  raging  giant 
who  threatened  to  destroy  him.  To  his 
memory  came  the  father's  indignant  refer- 
ence to  the  girl's  associating  with  such  as  he. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  the  man  would  be 
equally  outraged  should  he  become  aware 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  nursing  another 
stranger,  with  whom  she  dwelt  in  a  lonely 
retreat.  The  enmity  that  he  felt  toward 
Elizabeth  moved  him  to  betrayal  of  her  to 
her  father.  He  was  sure  that  in  this  wise 
he  could  divert  wrath  from  himself  to  her, 
and  thus  perhaps  save  himself  while  injuring 
her.    He  was  still  greatly  alarmed,  but  the 


142        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

hope  of  escape  and  of  satisfying  his  hostility 
toward  the  princess  gave  him  strength  to 
speak  boldly  for  the  first  time. 

"I  can  lead  you  to  where  your  girl  is,  and 
she'll  tell  you  she  give  me  her  gun  herself, 
to  go  shootin'  with.  She's  in  a  kind  of  cave 
with  a  young  chap  she's  fished  out  of  the 
river. ' ' 

Lowrie,  who  had  listened  with  a  fair  de- 
gree of  patience,  shouted  a  curse,  and  Morris 
shuddered  again  at  the  venom  in  the  raucous 
voice. 

"Ye  lyin'  hounM  I'll  cut  out  thet  dirty 
tongue  o'  yer'n." 

Yet,  some  subtle  note  in  the  man's  voice 
conveyed  a  hint  of  doubtfulness,  which  gave 
the  soldier  courage. 

"Time  enough  for  that,"  he  retorted, 
"when  I've  led  you  to  the  place,  and  you've 
found  out  what  I've  said  wa'n't  true.  Meb- 
be  you  know  where  the  cave  is." 

The  chief  shook  his  head. 

"I  knew  she  had  a  place  some 'res,"  he 
admitted,  with  manifest  reluctance,  "but  I 
don't  know  whar  hit's  at.  I  'low  you-all 
kin  lead  me  thar.  An'  when  I've  proved 
yeV  lyin',  I'll  tend  t'  ye  'cordin'  t'  yer  de- 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        143 

serts,  an'  it  won't  be  no  ways  pleasant  fer 
ye  nuther." 

He  reached  out,  and  took  the  rifle  from 
Morris,  who  made  no  effort  to  retain  it. 
Then  he  climbed  back  on  his  horse,  and  spoke 
gruffly  to  Goins,  who  throughout  the  scene 
had  remained  a  silent,  but  profoundly  inter- 
ested observer. 

"You-all  git  along  t'  the  camp,  Charlie,' ' 
he  ordered.  "I'll  look  arter  this-hyar  critter 
myself. ' ' 

Goins  knew  the  chief  too  well  to  attempt 
any  argument  against  the  decree,  but  turned 
his  horse,  and  rode  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  Croatan  encampment.  As  he  disappeared 
from  view  in  the  wood,  Lowrie  spoke  a  word 
of  command  to  the  soldier,  and  the  two 
moved  away  briskly  together  in  a  southerly 
direction  toward  the  rapids  of  the  Yadkin. 
Each  was  busy  with  thoughts  not  to  be  shared 
by  any  one,  least  of  all  by  the  other,  so  they 
covered  the  miles  in  silence. 

And  even  more  silently  a  third  man  fol- 
lowed their  trail.  Goins,  aflame  with  jeal- 
ousy over  the  soldier's  report  concerning  the 
woman  he  expected  to  marry,  had  tethered 
his  horse  when  safely  out  of  sight,  and  then 


144        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

had  returned  to  stalk  the  others,  and  so  to 
be  guided  to  this  cave  of  which  he  had  never 
before  heard,  where  Elizabeth  companied 
shamelessly  with  a  foreigner. 

Lowrie  left  his  horse  at  Morris '  sugges- 
tion when  they  neared  the  hunting  lodge,  and 
the  two  men  proceeded  on  foot,  moving  as 
noiselessly  as  possible  by  tacit  agreement. 
The  soldier  led  the  way  down  the  precipitous 
path  to  the  broad  ledge  from  which  the 
cavern  extended.  There  was  no  one  visible 
on  the  shelf  to  give  warning  of  their  ap- 
proach, but  a  low  murmur  of  voices  sounded 
from  within,  made  indistinct  by  the  matting 
that  intervened.  Morris  tiptoed  softly  to  a 
point  in  the  woven  wall  where  he  had  dis- 
covered a  little  opening  in  the  sedge-grass. 
He  beckoned  to  the  chief,  who  had  halted, 
somewhat  at  a  loss,  and  Lowrie  cautiously 
advanced  until  he  stood  by  the  other's  side. 
After  a  glance  within,  the  Yankee  drew  back, 
and  indicated  the  aperture.  The  father  put 
his  eye  to  the  rent,  and  looked  within.  For 
a  few  seconds,  his  gaze,  accustomed  to  the 
clear  outer  light,  could  distinguish  nothing 
plainly  within  the  dim  interior  of  the  shelter. 
But  presently  his  vision  adjusted  itself  to 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        145 

the  obscurity,  and  he  was  able  to  see  with 
a  distinctness  that  caused  him  to  choke  back 
with  difficulty  the  imprecations  leaping  to  his 
lips. 

His  daughter  was  seated  on  the  floor,  re- 
clining in  a  posture  of  graceful  ease  against 
the  rough  wooden  side  of  a  bunk.  Her  face 
was  all  animation,  and  she  was  speaking 
earnestly,  in  a  soft,  hurried  voice.  Her  bril- 
liant black  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  listener 
with  an  expression  of  devotion  that  was  un- 
mistakable. That  listener  answered  the 
confession  in  her  glances  with  a  like  emotion 
in  his  own.  But  he  did  not  speak;  only 
nodded  mute  acquiescence  to  her  words.  At 
the  moment  when  the  father  thus  spied  upon 
her,  Elizabeth  was  saying: 

"It  has  always  seemed  my  duty  to  marry 
him."  Even  in  that  dusky  light,  the  chief 
could  detect  the  flush  that  mantled  his 
daughter's  cheek.  "But  now,  lately,  I  have 
come  to  know  that  I  can  never  marry  Charlie 
Goins." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LOWRIE  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the 
opening  in  the  matting,  and  noiselessly 
went  back  along  the  path  up  the  bluff  for  a 
little  way,  beckoning  the  soldier  to  follow 
him.  When  they  were  at  a  distance  so  that 
he  could  speak  without  being  overheard,  he 
gave  a  gruff  command  to  Morris. 

"I'll  go  back  thar,  an'  you-all  go  'long 
inter  the  cave,  an'  talk  t'  my  darter.  I'll 
know  by  the  way  she  acts  whether  ye  been 
lyin'  er  not.  If  ye've  tol'  the  truth,  I  hain't 
a-goin'  t'  hurt  ye  none."  He  turned  and 
went  cautiously  back  to  the  spying  place,  and 
an  imperative  gesture  directed  Morris  to- 
ward the  entrance  of  the  cavern. 

The  soldier  went  forward  readily  enough, 
but  doubtfully,  for  he  was  more  than  ever 
bewildered  by  the  course  of  events.  He  had 
expected  to  see  this  fierce  old  man  convulsed 
by  rage  over  the  discovery  of  his  daughter's 
secret   association   with   the   stranger.     To 

146 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        147 

his  amazement,  the  man  showed  no  signs  of 
anger,  not  even  of  a  natural  indignation  on 
account  of  the  treachery  practised  against 
him  by  his  own  child.  Instead,  the  rugged 
features  seemed  somehow  curiously  softened. 
There  was  the  suggestion  of  an  immense 
satisfaction  in  his  expression.  Morris  felt 
once  again  that  he  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  situation  into  which  he  had 
been  thrust.  He  was  well  content,  however, 
despite  his  confusion  of  mind,  since  the  man 
who  had  threatened  him  now  seemed  com- 
paratively well  disposed  and  tractable.  So 
he  entered  the  cavern  confidently,  and  dis- 
played the  two  fox  squirrels,  which  he  had 
carried  in  his  pocket.  Elizabeth  curtly  bade 
him  clean  them  against  Minnie  's  coming,  and 
nodded  dismissal.  On  his  return  outside, 
Lowrie  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  indicated  that 
he  should  ascend  to  the  top  of  the  bluff.  But 
the  chief  himself  chose  to  remain  at  his  espial 
a  little  longer.  Thus  it  came  about  that  he 
heard  himself  mentioned  by  the  girl. 

"I'm  worried  about  pappy.  It  will  hurt 
him  when  he  knows  that  I  must  go  against 
his  wishes.  He's  always  expected  me  to 
marry   Charlie   Goins."     Elizabeth's   voice 


148        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

was  half-apologetic.  "You  see,  he's  father's 
lieutenant,  and  so  he'd  naturally  be  the  next 
chief  if  he  married  me.  But  I  can't  marry 
him,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it.  I 
thought  I  could,  but  I  can't."  Her  voice 
had  hardened  a  little,  with  a  note  of  defiance 
in  it.  "What's  more,"  she  added  resolutely, 
"I'm  going  to  tell  pappy  all  about  it  this 
very  night — and  about  you,  too,  David,"  she 
added  impulsively.  She  seemed  unaware  of 
the  implication  in  her  words  by  this  associa- 
tion of  her  refusal  to  marry  Goins  with  the 
fact  of  the  young  man's  coming  into  her  life. 
But  the  implication  was  not  lost  on  either 
of  her  hearers.  In  that  moment,  it  was  as 
if  a  light  flamed  in  David's  heart  so  that  the 
truth  stood  out  naked  and  unashamed,  and 
beautiful — the  truth  that  this  girl,  so  capable 
and  self-reliant,  yet  so  delicately  lovely,  so 
adorably  feminine,  that  this  girl,  to  whom 
he  owed  his  life,  loved  him.  It  flashed  on 
him  that  he  should  pay  this  debt  to  her  with 
his  own  heart.  But  the  sense  of  another 
duty  pressed  hard  upon  him.  He  felt  in  every 
atom  of  his  being  the  instinct  of  response 
to  the  love  which  the  girl  so  innocently  be- 
trayed.   It  took  the  utmost  strength  of  his 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        149 

will  to  resist  the  surge  of  passion  that  would 
have  swept  him  toward  her.  But  he  remem- 
bered Ruth,  and  the  spirit  of  loyalty  held 
him  motionless  and  mute,  sternly  unyielding 
to  his  desire.  Nevertheless,  he  could  not  veil 
the  fires  burning  in  his  eyes  as  they  met 
those  of  Elizabeth.  The  girl's  gaze  fell  in 
a  maidenly  confusion,  half-troubled,  wholly 
sweet,  as  for  the  first  time,  under  the  im- 
pact of  that  ardent  regard,  she  felt  the  stir- 
rings of  womanly  passion  within  her  own 
breast. 

The  other  listener,  the  father,  who  might 
have  been  expected  to  be  greatly  disturbed 
by  the  overthrow  of  his  most  cherished  plans, 
showed  a  surprising  indifference  to  the  dis- 
appointment. His  face  was  not  distorted  by 
either  anger  or  grief  over  the  shattering  of 
his  hopes.  On  the  contrary,  his  heavy  fea- 
tures were  relaxed  into  a  grin  that  seemed 
one  almost  of  approbation.  He  turned  away 
and  very  quietly  mounted  the  path  that  led 
to  the  summit,  where  he  found  Morris  wait- 
ing. He  gave  the  fellow  his  daughter's 
rifle,  which  he  had  retained  up  to  this  time, 
and  spoke  roughly. 

"Ye  kin  git  back  thar.     I   'low  ye  was 


150        THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL 

tellin'  the  truth.  I  hain't  got  no  likin'  fer 
pizen  critters  sich  as  ye  be.  I  meant  t'  put 
ye  back  in  the  prison  thar  at  Salisbury,  an' 
git  the  bounty  fer  ye,  if  I  didn't  kill  ye  fust. 
But  my  darter's  tuck  up  with  ye,  an'  thet 
saves  yer  hide.  But  I  reckon  ye  needn't  say 
any  thin'  t'  my  darter  'bout  hevin'  seen  an' 
talked  with  me.  Thet's  my  business,  an'  not 
her  'n.  Keep  yer  mouth  shet,  er  hit  '11  be  the 
wuss  fer  ye." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  chief  hurried 
off  toward  where  he  had  left  his  horse. 
Morris  stood  staring  after  the  man,  more 
perplexed  than  ever,  for  he  had  vaguely 
sensed  a  geniality  about  Lowrie,  which  was 
contrary  to  all  his  expectations.  There  was 
an  air  of  satisfaction  pervading  the  chief 
which  was  not  dispelled  in  the  least  by  the 
harshness  of  his  speech.  The  soldier  shook 
his  head  despondently  as  he  watched  the 
brawny  form  disappear  within  the  wood. 
The  mystery  of  it  all  was  beyond  his  solving. 

There  was  another  who  watched  the  chief. 
Hardly  had  Lowrie  vanished  within  the 
shadows  of  the  forest  when  Goins  left  the 
place  in  which  he  had  been  lying  concealed 
behind  some  bushes  a  few  rods  further  up 


THE  HOMEWARD  TKAIL        151 

the  bluff.  He  hurried  in  his  turn  to  his 
horse,  which  he  had  left  at  some  distance  in 
order  to  escape  observation.  He  mounted 
and  rode  at  full  speed  for  the  encampment. 
But  he  was  at  pains  to  take  a  somewhat 
roundabout  route  to  avoid  being  seen  by 
Lowrie.  He  was  sure  that  the  chief  would 
ride  slowly,  and  thus  give  him  ample  time 
to  reach  the  settlement  before  the  other's  ar- 
rival, even  though  he  took  a  longer  trail. 
And  in  this  he  was  justified.  When  Lowrie 
dismounted  at  his  cabin  door,  he  was  greeted 
by  his  lieutenant,  who  lounged  there,  smok- 
ing. It  never  occurred  to  him  to  suspect  that 
the  man  whom  he  trusted  had  come  into  the 
encampment  only  a  few  minutes  before  him, 
and  not  an  hour  agone.  But  it  did  occur  to 
him  to  scrutinize  Goins'  face  with  unaccus- 
tomed keenness.  He  saw  with  new  clearness 
the  bestiality  of  the  fellow's  countenance, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  experienced  a  lively 
distaste  for  the  one  whom  he  had  regarded 
hitherto  as  inevitably  his  successor  in  the 
government  of  the  tribe.  He  became  re- 
motely aware,  too,  of  the  aversion  which  such 
a  man  as  this  must  provoke  in  such  a  woman 
ids  daughter.    He  perceived  with  an  ab- 


152        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

rupt  sense  of  self-disgust  the  monstrousness 
of  the  marriage  which  he  had  projected  be- 
tween Elizabeth,  a  girl  of  purest  life  and 
highest  ideals,  and  this  creature,  so  repulsive 
and  so  debased.  He  wondered  at  the  blind- 
ness that  had  permitted  him  even  to  con- 
sider a  union  so  grotesquely  incongruous. 
He  felt  a  sudden  exaltation  as  he  recalled  his 
daughter's  decision  spoken  to  David  in  the 
cavern,  that  she  would  not  wed  Charlie  Goins. 
The  grin  that  had  so  mystified  Morris  a 
little  while  before,  now  reappeared  on  the 
chief's  face  as  he  considered  his  lieutenant — 
a  grin  equally  smug  and  crafty.  Goins,  in 
his  turn,  was  perplexed  to  know  what  might 
lie  back  of  Lowrie  's  expression.  But  he  was 
wise  enough  to  bide  his  time  and  to  ask  no 
question.  He  guessed  that  affairs  in  connec- 
tion with  his  wooing  were  not  progressing 
as  he  could  wish.  A  rabid  jealousy  had  been 
aroused  in  him  already  by  what  he  had  heard 
from  the  soldier  and  the  practical  verifica- 
tion of  it  which  he  had  witnessed  from  his 
place  of  hiding  on  the  occasion  of  Lowrie  Js 
visit  to  the  hunting  lodge.  He  swore  a  silent 
oath  of  hatred  against  the  man  whom  Eliza- 
beth had  rescued  from  the  river,  and  re- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        153 

solved  to  remove  that  obstacle  from  his  path 
ruthlessly,  should  the  need  arise. 

True  to  her  avowed  purpose,  the  princess 
returned  to  the  encampment  that  evening 
with  Minnie,  and  at  once  sought  a  private  in- 
terview with  her  father.  She  narrated  first, 
verv  brief! v,  the  events  connected  with  the 
coming  of  David.  Her  father  listened  closely, 
smoking  steadily,  his  face  quite  expression- 
less under  the  anxious  eyes  of  his  daughter. 
When,  finally,  she  paused  for  some  comment, 
he  spoke  in  a  tone  of  seeming  indifference. 

"  'E  needs  a  little  more  rest  afore  goin' 
on  'is  way,  ye  say?  Wall,  I  cal'late  we'll 
hev  to  hev  'im  hyar  till  'e  gits  right  peart 
ag'in.  I  'low  'e  kin  stop  by  right  hyar,  'e 
bein',  'cordin'  t'  yer  say-so,  a  fitten  pusson. 
I'll  find  a  place  fer  the  sojer  some 'res  till 
we  kin  git  rid  o'  'im." 

A  dainty  blush  of  pleasure  warmed  the 
girl's  cheeks  as  her  father  thus  gratified  the 
wish  which  she  had  not  directly  expressed. 
The  chief  was  not  unobservant  of  the  effect 
upon  her,  and  his  complacency  increased,  al- 
though his  features  remained  as  stolid  as 
ever. 

The  princess,  encouraged  by  her  success 


154        THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL 

thus  far,  took  heart  of  grace,  and  broached 
the  subject  of  the  proposed  marriage  be- 
tween her  and  Charlie  Goins.  She  was  in 
some  degree  abashed  by  her  own  temerity 
in  going  counter  to  her  father's  wish,  but 
she  was  upheld  by  a  spirit  of  determination 
born  of  the  new  emotion  that  had  come  into 
her  heart.  The  feeling  for  David  was  not 
to  be  denied,  and  the  first  effect  of  it  was 
to  forbid  her  from  entering  into  a  loveless 
union  with  a  man  whom  she  despised  and 
loathed.  So,  with  much  faltering,  she  made 
known  the  fact  of  her  insurmountable  anti- 
pathy for  the  man  selected  by  her  father, 
and  her  final  resolve  to  resist  the  fellow's 
suit,  even  to  the  point  of  direct  disobedience 
to  her  father's  command.  The  girl  spoke 
humbly,  but  there  was  an  under-note  of  de- 
liberate decision,  which  her  father  recognized 
and  respected,  though  he  still  maintained  his 
austere  demeanor.  Elizabeth  was  distressed 
by  the  sternness  of  his  visage,  and  added  a 
pitiful  plea  for  forgiveness  of  her  fault,  if 
such  it  seemed  to  him.  Then,  at  last,  she 
ceased  speaking,  and  for  a  little  time  silence 
rested  between  the  two. 
When  presently  he  answered,  the  chief's 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        155 

voice  was  grave,  but  with  a  kindliness  in 
it  that  the  girl  had  not  expected. 

"I  'low  yeV  honest,  'Liz'beth.  Now  I 
jist  want  ye  V  tell  yer  ol'  pappy  one  thing 
right  out  fr'm  yer  heart,  gal.  Ye  didn't  say 
nothin'  like  this  t'other  day,  when  I  axed 
ye  'bout  gittin'  spliced  t'  Charlie."  The 
rugged  countenance  softened  swiftly,  and  a 
gentle  glow  lighted  the  piercing  black  eyes 
that  studied  his  daughter's  face.  "I  aim  t' 
hev  ye  tell  me  jist  how  'tis  with  ye.  Ye 
seem  t'  hev  got  a  mighty  sudden  notion 
ag'inst  pore  Charlie.  Has  this  stranger  fr'm 
up  yender  got  anythin'  t'  do  with  yer  new 
way  o '  lookin '  at  things  ?  Tell  me  thet,  'Liz  '- 
beth."    He  waited  in  silence. 

A  great  wave  of  color  flooded  the  girl's 
face.  She  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands, 
and  sat  bowed,  unable  for  the  moment  to 
reply,  shaken  by  emotion.  The  father  did 
not  urge  her.  There  was  unaccustomed  ten- 
derness in  the  gaze  that  he  held  steadfastly 
on  the  agitated  figure  before  him.  And,  too, 
now  that  he  was  himself  unobserved,  the 
stolidity  of  his  expression  relaxed,  and  there 
was  a  recurrence  of  the  grin  that  told  of  a 
secret  satisfaction. 


156        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

Elizabeth  dropped  her  hands  at  last,  and 
raised  her  face,  which  was  radiant  in  spite 
of  the  embarrassment  it  showed.  The  limped 
lusters  of  her  eyes  were  unusually  brilliant, 
flashing  from  the  emotion  that  vibrated  in 
her  heart.  She  met  her  father's  scrutiny 
bravely,  and  uttered  her  confession  in  a  voice 
which,  while  hardly  more  than  a  whisper, 
was  firm,  and  resonant  of  pride  and  joy  in 
the  avowal. 

"Yes,  I — I  love  him."  She  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  and  then  continued  falteringly. 
1 '  I  never  knew — what  it  meant  before — love ! 
It's  because  I  didn't  know  that  I  thought — 
I  supposed  of  course  I  could — marry  Charlie. 
Now,  it's  all  different — oh,  so  different !  I've 
learned  something  about  what  love  is — what 
it  means.  I  could  never  marry  Charlie  now. 
Just  the  thought  of  it  sickens  me.  Even  if 
I  could  never  marry  him — David,  I  mean — 
it  wouldn't  make  any  difference  about 
Charlie.  No,  I  couldn't  marry  Charlie — 
never ! ' '  The  abhorrence  written  on  her  face 
gave  emphasis  to  the  words.  She  looked 
away,  brooding,  while  the  father  watched 
her,  tracing  the  trend  of  her  thoughts  as 
she  mused  by  turns  on  David  and  Goins  by 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        157 

the  changing  play  of  her  features  from  light 
to  gloom. 

After  a  long  interval,  the  chief  put  a  ques- 
tion. As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  no  doubt 
as  to  the  final  answer  of  that  question.  He 
was  sure  that  no  man  could  prove  insensible 
to  the  beauty  and  charm  of  his  daughter. 
He  interrogated  her  now  rather  for  the  sake 
of  learning  her  own  attitude  than  for  any 
other  reason. 

"An*  'im,  now?  What  about  'im — this 
feller  fr'm  some'eres  up  bey  on'?  Is  'e  a-say- 
in,  as  how  'e  loves  you-all,  ,Liz,beth?,> 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  startled,  with  wide 
eyes. 

i  l  Does  this-hyar  feller,  David,  love  ye?" 
he  demanded  again. 

A  shadow  of  fright  dimmed  the  radiance 
of  the  face  which  had  been  joyous  a  moment 
before.  Thus  far,  in  the  newness  of  the 
great  emotion  excited  in  her  by  the  stranger's 
coming,  she  had  hardly  let  her  thoughts 
dwell  on  what  his  feelings  for  her  might  be. 
On  the  occasions  when  the  idea  had  occurred 
to  her,  she  had  somehow  taken  it  for  granted 
that  his  feeling  must  be  like  hers.  Now, 
confronted  with  the  blunt  question,  she  found 


158        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

herself  suddenly  overwhelmed  with  doubt. 
She  realized  that  she  had  no  actual  knowl- 
edge of  his  heart.  She  had  had  hope,  but  no 
certainty.  He  had  uttered  no  least  word  of 
love  to  her — only  the  expressions  of  a  natural 
gratitude  for  the  service  she  had  rendered 
him.  Now,  hope  seemed  blasted  by  the  crude 
clarity  of  her  father's  question.  Her  face 
went  white. 

She  answered  tremulously,  yet  with  the 
courage  that  was  characteristic  of  her. 

"Why,  pappy,"  she  said  very  low,  and 
there  was  a  childish  quiver  of  the  curving 
red  lips,  "why,  I — I  don't  know!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

NEXT  morning  early,  Elizabeth  mounted 
her  pony  and  rode  to  the  hunting 
lodge.  She  was  brimming  with  delight  at 
the  manner  in  which  her  father  had  received 
her  confession  the  night  before.  She  had 
thought  that  he  would  be  at  least  greatly  dis- 
tressed over  her  refusal  to  accept  Goins  as 
a  husband.  She  had  even  feared  that  he 
might  fly  into  one  of  his  red  rages,  and  insist 
on  the  exercise  of  his  authority  to  compel 
her  acquiescence  in  the  marriage.  Thus  his 
tractability  in  the  matter  had  surprised  her 
as  much  as  it  had  gratified  her.  She  was 
somewhat  at  a  loss  to  understand  this  unac- 
customed adaptability  on  his  part.  But  she 
was  not  minded  to  disturb  herself  over  rea- 
sons why.  She  was  content  with  the  relief 
afforded,  and  took  joy  of  it.  To  add  to  her 
happiness,  there  was  the  fact  that  her  father 
showed  no  disfavor  over  the  presence  of 
David  within  his  territory — seemed  rather 

159 


160        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

to  welcome  the  young  man,  as  was  proven  by 
a  ready  invitation  to  his  own  home. 

Elizabeth  found  David  and  the  soldier 
sunning  themselves  and  smoking  comfortably 
on  the  level  of  rock  before  the  cavern.  Both 
men  arose  as  the  girl  came  hurrying  down 
the  path  from  the  top  of  the  bluff,  and  David 
strode  quickly  forward  to  greet  her,  his  face 
alight  with  pleasure.  He  smiled  for  sheer 
sympathy  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  radiance 
of  her  expression.  Elizabeth  put  out  both 
hands,  which  he  seized  in  a  warm  clasp,  as 
their  glances  met  and  mingled.  For  a  long 
moment  neither  spoke  while  they  thrilled 
under  the  contact  of  hand  to  hand  and  eye 
to  eye  in  a  delicious  intimacy  of  emotion. 
The  impulse  to  draw  her  to  him  was  strong 
on  David,  and  he  sensed  in  her  a  yielding 
as  if  she  were  ready  to  give  herself  to  his 
embrace.  But,  once  again,  the  mountaineer 
fought  down  the  passion  that  assailed  him, 
though  his  gaze,  charged  with  tenderness, 
could  not  deny  his  heart,  and  answered  the 
adoration  that  shone  in  hers. 

The  princess  recovered  herself  first.  Some- 
thing of  her  usual  poise  returned  to  her 
manner  as  she  drew  her  hands  from  David's. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        161 

There  was  still  a  deeper  color  flooding  the 
golden  tint  of  her  cheeks,  and  her  expression 
revealed  the  delight  that  filled  her  heart. 
Her  first  words  explained  the  cause  of  her 
mood. 

"It's  all  right,  David.  I  told  pappy,  as 
I  said  I  would,  and  he  didn't  make  any  fuss 
at  all — you  know,  about  Charlie."  She  had 
lowered  her  voice  at  the  name,  lest  Morris 
overhear.  "And  I  told  him  about  you,  too, 
David."  She  spoke  shyly  now.  "He  was — 
oh,  so  interested !  I  didn  't  know — I  thought, 
perhaps — "  She  broke  off,  in  confusion,  but 
controlled  herself,  and  went  on  speaking 
more  quietly.  "Pappy  wants  you  to  visit 
him  at  the  camp.    You  must  come  at  once." 

"I  ought  to  be  on  my  way,"  David  pro- 
tested, half-heartedly.  "Ye've  done  enough 
fer  me  already.  I  ain't  sick  now,  an'  I  don't 
'low  I've  got  much  of  any  excuse  fer  visitin' 
yer  pappy. ' ' 

Elizabeth  dismissed  his  objection  with  the 
imperious  petulance  of  the  true  princess. 

"Nonsense!"  she  exclaimed.  "You'll  do 
as  I  say,  and  come  home  with  me  right  off." 

The  voice  of  Morris  sounded  querulously, 
with  a  suggestion  of  alarm  in  it. 


162        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

" And  what  about  me,  miss?  What's  gom' 
to  become  of  me!" 

"Oh,  you!"  The  girl  lifted  her  eyes,  and 
regarded  the  man  disdainfully.  "Why, 
you're  to  eome,  too.  My  father  will  not  in- 
terfere with  your  escape,  though  he  hates 
your  kind.  And  I  reckon  you'd  better  be 
starting  pretty  soon  after  we  get  to  the  camp. 
You  can  have  a  guide.  If  he  stayed  around 
long,  some  of  the  tribe  might  get  to  playing 
tricks  on  him,"  she  explained  to  David. 
' '  They  naturally  despise  those  Northerners. ' ' 

Morris  scowled,  but  ventured  no  comment, 
and  followed  the  two  as  they  set  forth  for 
the  Croatan  encampment,  the  girl  riding  and 
David  walking  beside  her. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  settlement,  David 
was  both  astonished  and  pleased  at  the 
warmth  of  friendliness  in  the  chief's  greet- 
ings. While  Morris  was  gruffly  dismissed  to 
another  place  in  the  little  village,  the  moun- 
taineer was  taken  into  Lowrie's  cabin  and 
most  hospitably  entertained  there.  The  chief 
gave  him  a  share  of  his  own  bed,  and  in 
every  way  treated  the  newcomer  as  a  favored 
guest.  His  personal  interest  in  this  stranger 
was  witnessed  by  the  constancy  of  his  as- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        163 

sociation,  which  was  such  as  to  annoy  Eliza- 
beth, who  missed  the  intimacy  she  had  so 
enjoyed  in  the  cavern.  It  was  evident  that 
the  chief  took  pleasure  from  the  outset  in 
the  society  of  this  new  companion,  and  his 
instantaneous  liking  rapidly  developed  into 
a  warm  regard.  The  two  talked  together 
freely,  for  David,  in  his  turn,  was  attracted 
by  the  powerful  personality  of  this  autocrat 
in  the  wilderness.  He  responded  frankly  to 
the  elder  man's  searching  questions,  until 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  told  of  his 
simple  history.  And  all  that  he  learned 
pleased  the  chief  hugely.  But  he  kept  strict 
silence  as  to  those  plans  for  the  future  in 
which  David  and  his  daughter  were  alike  con- 
cerned so  vitally. 

Morris  was  eliminated  from  the  scene  on 
the  day  he  reached  camp.  Lowrie  gave  him 
in  charge  of  one  of  the  older  men  to  be  guided 
to  those  Union  sympathizers  who  would  fur- 
ther his  escape. 

"He'll  git  ye  t'  the  undergroun'  railroad, 
an'  then  yer  friends  kin  look  arter  ye.  Ye '11 
be  safer  with  them  than  hyar-abouts.  My 
boys  mostly  hain't  got  no  likin'  fer  sich 
varmints  as  you-all." 


164        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

And  Morris,  frightened  by  the  sullen 
hatred  so  plainly  visible  on  the  faces  of  the 
Croatans,  was  thankful  to  be  quit  of  sur- 
roundings equally  uncongenial  and  danger- 
ous. He  hastened  off  without  even  a  word 
to  David  or  Elizabeth,  each  of  whom  had 
succored  him  in  the  hour  of  need. 

On  a  Sunday  afternoon,  Lowrie  and  David 
sat  chatting  and  smoking  in  the  living-room, 
while  Elizabeth  busied  herself  with  braiding 
strands  of  rawhide  into  a  long  whiplash.  A 
group  of  the  younger  Croatans  was  engaged 
in  trials  of  strength  and  skill  on  the  level 
strip  of  sward  that  stretched  before  the 
chief's  cabin.  The  main  attraction  was  the 
wrestling  bouts  where  the  rivalry  was  keen, 
and  many  of  the  competitors  displayed 
marked  ability.  David,  who  from  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case  had  a  particular  interest 
in  Charlie  Goins,  observed  with  some  sur- 
prise that  the  lieutenant  took  no  active  part 
in  the  wrestling.    He  questioned  Lowrie. 

"Why  don't  yer  lieutenant,  that  Goins,  try 
a  fall?    He  looks  plumb  powerful." 

Lowrie  nodded. 

"Charlie's  right-smart  strong,"  he  de- 
clared; "pretty  nigh  strong's  I  be.     'E  ain't 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        165 

wrastlin'  none,  'cause  's  too  good  fer  the 
other  boys."  He  cast  an  appraising  glance 
over  his  guest's  stalwart  form.  "Mebbe  so, 
you-all  kin  wrastle  some  yerself. ' ' 

David  grinned  sheepishly,  with  a  muttered 
word  of  deprecation  concerning  his  own 
prowess.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  excep- 
tional strength  and  quickness,  together  with 
his  mental  shrewdness,  had  won  him  fame  as 
the  champion  wrestler  of  his  county.  Lowrie, 
after  a  second  and  longer  scrutiny  of  the 
young  man,  spoke  again.  There  was  a  trace 
of  eagerness  in  the  rumbling  voice,  and,  too, 
just  a  hint  of  anxiety,  as  if  his  suggestion  had 
a  graver  import  than  the  mere  words  seemed 
to  justify. 

"I  'low  now  ye  wouldn't  wanter  take  a 
try  with  Charlie  yerself."  Then  he  added, 
hastily,  as  though  in  answer  to  a  smothered 
ejaculation  from  Elizabeth:  "Course  hit 
hain't  no  disgrace  t'  be  throwed  by  Charlie. 
Ain't  nobody  kin  put  'im  on  'is  back  'cept 
me." 

Though  he  spoke  so  lightly,  the  chief  was 
already  regretting  the  impulse  that  had  led 
him  to  suggest  this  match.  He  realized  fully 
that  its  consequences  might  jeopardize  his 


166        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

whole  project  of  making  the  mountaineer,  as 
his  daughter's  husband,  his  successor  in  the 
chieftainship  of  the  tribe.  The  ruler  of  the 
Croatans  must  be  their  proven  master  physic- 
ally as  well  as  mentally.  If  Goins  were  to 
vanquish  David  in  the  presence  of  the  tribe, 
the  stranger's  prestige  would  suffer  a  fatal 
blow  from  the  defeat.  The  dismay  in  Eliza- 
beth's exclamation  had  brought  the  truth 
home  to  Lowrie.  He  studied  David's  form 
once  again  as  the  young  man  stood  up,  and 
what  he  saw  encouraged  him  to  risk  the  issue, 
though  he  was  at  pains  to  avoid  the  reproach- 
ful glance  of  the  princess,  who  expostulated 
indignantly : 

"Why,  pappy,  David  isn't  well  again  yet." 

But  David  himself  shook  his  head  in  ve- 
hement denial  of  her  assertion. 

" Shucks,  now!"  he  asserted.  "If  I  was 
feelin'  any  better,  they'd  have  t'  put  a  ring 
in  my  nose,  an'  lead  me  on  a  rope."  The 
confidence  in  his  glance  cheered  the  girl, 
though  she  still  feared  for  the  outcome. 
"I'm  willin'  t'  try  yer  champeen,"  he  added 
to  the  chief . 

The  matter  was  speedily  arranged,  and 
David   and   Goins,    stripped   to    the   waist, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        167 

faced  each  other  with  mutual  respect,  if  not 
liking.  David  did  not  make  the  mistake  of 
underestimating  his  opponent.  He  guessed 
that  the  Croatan's  strength  was  superior  to 
his  own,  and  determined  to  place  his  reliance 
on  excelling  in  quickness  and  strategy.  To 
him,  however,  there  was  no  crisis  in  this 
meeting  beyond  a  natural  desire  to  win 
against  one  whom  he  instinctively  disliked, 
and  whom  he  actively  detested  on  Elizabeth's 
account.  Goins,  however,  was  overjoyed  at 
this  opportunity  of  meeting  in  combat  the 
man  whom  he  regarded  as  his  rival,  an  inter- 
loper threatening  his  whole  scheme  of  love 
and  life.  Neither  Lowrie  nor  his  daughter 
had  said  anything  to  imply  a  change  in  the 
lieutenant's  status,  but  Goins  was  not  lack- 
ing in  intelligence  of  a  sort,  and  he  was  able 
to  make  a  shrewd  estimate  of  the  possibili- 
ties. The  public  worsting  of  his  antagonist, 
while  it  would  by  no  means  satisfy  his  hatred, 
would  go  far  toward  reestablishing  his  men- 
aced  supremacy  in  the  tribe. 

The  chief  boomed  a  command,  and  the  two 
contestants  set  themselves  to  the  struggle. 
For  a  few  moments,  they  circled  each  other 
warily,  eying  each  other  alertly,  seeking  an 


168        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

opportunity.  Then  there  carne  a  swift  inter- 
play of  movements,  and  the  two  men  were 
on  all  fours,  grappled.  The  action  was  rapid, 
unhesitating,  for  each  knew  just  what  he 
meant  to  do.  The  circle  of  Croatans  and  their 
chief  watched  in  tense  silence,  thrilled  by  a 
display  of  force  and  skill  in  which  the  two 
seemed  equally  matched.  There  came  grunts 
of  exultation  from  the  members  of  the  tribe 
when  their  champion  secured  the  scissors 
hold,  famous  for  the  adversaries  it  had  van- 
quished. 

Goins  straddled  David's  back.  His  legs 
locked  under  his  enemy's  thighs.  Then  the 
constriction  by  the  powerful  muscles  across 
the  belly  would  drive  the  breath  from  his 
foe,  crumple  him  to  limp  helplessness.  But 
David  knew  his  danger — knew  his  powerless- 
ness  within  that  crushing  grip,  once  the  full 
strength  of  it  was  exerted  against  him.  In 
the  instant  that  Goins  secured  the  hold,  the 
mountaineer  acted  with  every  atom  of  speed 
and  energy  which  he  possessed.  His  hands 
clutched  the  other's  toes,  and  wrenched  at 
them  savagely.  The  shock  of  the  pain  forced 
the  Croatan  to  relax  his  locked  ankles;  the 
legs  fell  apart.     Still  in  that  same  instant, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        169 

one  of  David's  arms  shot  up  under  the  lieu- 
tenant's shoulder  and  clasped  over  the  back 
of  the  neck ;  the  other  slipped  to  a  crotch  hold 
from  below.  Mighty  as  his  muscles  were, 
Goins  found  them  impotent  within  that  clutch, 
for  the  suddenness  and  sureness  of  the  at- 
tack took  him  at  a  disadvantage,  without  a 
counter.  The  pressure  on  his  neck  weakened 
him.  His  frantic  effort  of  resistance  was 
pitifully  futile.  In  a  frenzy  of  impotent 
rage,  he  felt  his  shoulders  bent  lower  and 
lower  toward  the  ground.  Came  a  heave 
from  the  arm  at  his  middle,  followed  by  the 
impact  of  the  other  man's  full  weight  as  his 
body  turned,  and  he  crashed  full  length  on 
the  turf,  shoulders  and  hips  unmistakably 
touching  the  ground  before  the  eyes  of  all  the 
startled  circle. 

"Fall!" 

The  chief 's  bellowed  word  snapped  the  ten- 
sion. The  spectators  broke  into  groups,  mut- 
tering excitedly,  their  faces  glad  or  sullen 
according  to  their  individual  feeling  toward 
the  beaten  wrestler.  David  got  up  quickly, 
and  stood  regarding  Lowrie  somewhat  self- 
consciously, his  chest  heaving  from  the  vio- 
lence of  his  exertion,  his  forehead  wet  with 


170        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

perspiration.  From  her  place  in  the  window 
of  the  living-room,  whence  she  had  watched 
the  encounter  in  tremors  of  alternating  hope 
and  fear,  Elizabeth  looked  down  on  the  form 
of  the  man  she  loved,  and  the  adoration  of 
her  heart  was  told  by  her  eyes  for  all  the 
world  to  see.  Goins,  rising  heavily,  saw,  and 
the  rage  over  his  defeat  swelled  to  a  black 
hatred  that  there  and  then  took  oath  of 
vengeance  against  the  stranger. 

Lowrie  spoke  with  the  voice  of  author- 
ity, though  he  smiled  as  he  met  Davids 
eyes. 

"Now,  youngster,  I'll  jist  take  ye  on  my- 
self." 

"But— "  David  began. 

The  chief  interrupted. 

"Got  t'  down  ye,  er  the  boys'd  think  I  was 
gittin'  old." 

The  subsequent  event  astounded  David  by 
its  unexpectedness.  He  found  his  skill  and 
agility  of  no  avail  now.  At  once  Lowrie 
wrapped  him  in  an  embrace  that  could  not 
be  broken.  He  was  as  helpless  as  a  child 
within  the  iron  arms  of  the  elder  man,  who 
stood  like  a  rock,  unshaken  in  any  degree  by 
the  violent  writhings  of  his  victim.    It  was 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        171 

almost  with  gentleness  that  Lowrie  laid  the 
young  man  on  the  ground,  while  the  tribes- 
men— all  save  Goins — roared  acclamations 
to  their  chief. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

COINCIDENCE  is  only  a  mystery  to  us 
by  reason  of  our  ignorance  concerning 
causes.  The  most  extraordinary  event  is 
easily  explained  by  a  knowledge  of  all  the 
facts.  Thus  the  meeting  of  three  principal 
characters  in  this  story,  two  days  after  the 
wrestling,  was  indeed  a  coincidence,  but  that 
coincidence  was  the  inevitable  effect  of  cer- 
tain causes  working  on  the  wills  of  the  trio. 
There  was  a  certain  likeness  between  the 
moods  of  Elizabeth  and  David.  Each  of 
them  experienced  the  distress  due  to  a  love 
thwarted.  The  girl  realized  daily  more  and 
more  the  fact  that  some  barrier  stood  be- 
tween her  and  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
given  her  heart.  She  was  sure  by  her  wo- 
man's intuition  that  he  loved  her,  and  yet 
he  spoke  no  word.  She  grieved  in  silence. 
The  only  assuagement  was  to  hope  still,  even 
against  conviction  of  the  truth.  David,  for 
his  part,  knew  what  the  barrier  was  that 

172 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        173 

reared  itself  between  him  and  this  woman  of 
his  longing.  Each  of  the  two  lovers  was  con- 
strained in  the  presence  of  the  other,  fear- 
ing a  more  explicit  self-revelation.  Each 
was  inclined  to  seek  relief  from  the  strain 
in  solitude.  Each  mused  with  peculiar  ten- 
derness on  their  time  together  in  the  first 
period  of  their  association.  That  gloomy 
cavern  in  the  cliff  above  the  Yadkin  River 
became  the  sanctuary  of  fondest  memories. 
Naturally,  then,  each  thought  of  the  place 
as  a  refuge  to  be  sought  for  melancholy  medi- 
tation. 

On  this  autumn  morning,  Elizabeth,  more 
than  ever  unhappy  over  the  aloofness  of 
David,  determined  to  ride  forth  alone.  She 
had  just  finished  attaching  the  whiplash  she 
had  braided  to  a  handle  of  hickory,  wilich 
had  been  deftly  fashioned  for  her  by  old 
Amidas  Durr,  the  expert  hewer  of  ax  helves 
for  the  tribe,  who  had  dyed  the  wood  to  a 
rich  red  with  pokeberries,  and  had  carved 
the  knobbed  butt  cunningly. 

1 '  Just  for  a  ride, ' '  she  explained  to  David, 
as  she  went  out.  She  trembled  with  hope 
that  he  might  offer  to  accompany  her,  but 
he  did  not.    She  rode  slowly  over  the  wood- 


174        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

land  trail  until  she  came  to  the  river  bluff. 
There  she  dismounted,  and,  descending  to 
the  cavern,  entered  the  chamber,  and  gave 
herself  to  bitter-sweet  meditations. 

She  had  hardly  gone  from  the  encamp- 
ment, when  David,  too,  slipped  away  by  him- 
self. And  his  steps  were  drawn  by  the  same 
magnet  that  had  guided  her.  He  walked 
swiftly  with  the  elastic,  loping  stride  of  the 
mountaineer,  and  his  course  led  straight 
along  the  woodland  trail  over  which  Eliza- 
beth had  just  ridden. 

Between  these  two  went  a  third  traveler 
through  the  forest.  Goins  had  been  watch- 
ing for  an  opportunity  to  speak  privately 
with  Elizabeth,  in  the  hope  of  pressing  favor- 
ably his  claims  as  her  suitor.  When  he  saw 
her  ride  off,  he  determined  to  follow,  and 
did  so  on  horseback.  He  was  careful  to 
maintain  a  considerable  distance  between  him 
and  the  girl,  so  that  she  would  not  be  aware 
of  his  pursuit.  It  had  rained  during  the  night, 
and  the  Croatan's  trained  eyes  easily  picked 
out  the  hoofmarks  of  the  princess'  pony  on 
the  soft  ground.  Despite  his  carefulness,  he 
came  near  being  discovered  by  the  girl,  since 
she  rode  at  a  pace  much  slower  than  was 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        175 

usual  with  her,  so  that  he  came  in  sight  of 
her  unexpectedly.  He  reined  his  horse  into 
a  place  of  concealment,  behind  some  chin- 
quipin  bushes  beside  the  trail,  and  then, 
after  a  considerable  interval,  proceeded  more 
slowly.  When  he  found  that  she  was  evi- 
dently bound  for  her  secret  retreat  in  the 
cliffs,  he  rejoiced  exceedingly.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  fate  was  playing  into  his  hands  by 
providing  this  chance  of  an  interview  safe 
from  the  possibility  of  any  interruption.  At 
last,  he  would  be  free  to  speak  his  mind  in 
full.  He  felt  a  savage  glee  at  the  prospect 
of  being  able  to  intimidate  the  girl  accord- 
ing to  his  will.  In  his  experience  of  women, 
brute  strength  had  proved  the  best  subju- 
gator. He  would  not  hesitate  to  take  violent 
measures,  should  gentler  persuasions  fail. 

Elizabeth  had  seated  herself  on  the  floor 
of  the  cavern,  with  her  back  against  the  bunk, 
in  the  posture  that  had  become  familiar  dur- 
ing the  days  there  with  David.  Now,  the  as- 
sociation of  her  surroundings  recalled  memo- 
ries of  him  so  vivid  and  so  tender  that  they 
filled  her  heart  with  a  poignant  anguish  as 
she  realized  how  they  were  apart,  not  merely 
as  a  matter  of  the  miles  that  lay  between  at 


176        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

this  moment,  but  apart  by  reason  of  that 
barrier  of  which  she  knew  nothing  beyond 
the  dreadful  fact  of  its  presence. 

The  princess  lifted  her  face,  which  had 
been  buried  in  her  hands.  Through  the 
shadowy  sadness  of  her  expression  flashed  a 
gleam  of  hope.  The  crunching  of  heavy 
steps  had  sounded  from  without.  Could  it 
be — David?  Had  he,  after  all,  followed  her? 
She  stood  up,  her  dark  eyes  aglow  with  ex- 
pectation, the  curving  graces  of  her  form 
tensed,  as  she  gazed  toward  the  entrance  of 
the  cavern.  Then  the  light  of  the  opening 
was  obscured  by  a  bulky  shadow.  The  first 
glance  sufficed  to  tell  that  her  fond  hope  was 
vain.  The  silhouette  had  neither  the  height 
nor  the  elegance  of  David's  figure.  It  was 
broader,  but  much  shorter,  almost  squat,  with 
the  huge  hands  dangling  from  the  long  arms 
almost  to  the  knees.  It  needed  no  more  than 
the  black  outline  to  announce  the  presence  of 
the  one  man  in  the  world  whom  she  detested 
— Goins.  Elizabeth  uttered  an  ejaculation  of 
disgust  as  she  recognized  the  unwelcome 
visitor.  His  coming  meant  that  the  privacy 
of  her  retreat  was  destroyed.  How  he  had 
chanced  upon  the  place  she  could  not  guess, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        177 

but  she  deemed  it  quite  possible  that  he  had 
spied  upon  her.  The  coming  of  Goins  into 
this  her  sanctuary  filled  her  with  anger.  He 
profaned  the  spot  sacred  to  her  tenderest 
memories.  She  resented  his  intrusion  as  an 
audacity  that  merited  harshest  rebuke.  Both 
wrath  and  contempt  were  in  her  voice  as  she 
spoke : 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

Goins  came  forward  before  he  replied, 
until  he  stood  close  to  the  girl,  facing  her. 
His  small  eyes  were  blinking  in  an  effort  of 
adjustment  to  the  dim  light  of  the  interior. 
His  loose  lips  were  twisted  into  a  complacent 
smirk,  which  still  further  incensed  the  girl. 
Had  his  vision  been  clearer,  perhaps  he 
might  have  read  the  storm  signals  in  the 
princess'  sparkling  eyes,  drawn  brows  and 
straightened  lips.  Or  perhaps,  even  after 
his  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the  dim- 
mer light,  he  would  still  have  been  blinded 
by  the  vanity  that  is  characteristic  of  his 
type.  He  was  a  leader  among  his  fellows. 
He  had  had  some  successes  with  women  of  a 
sort.  His  physical  strength  gave  him  cause 
for  self-glorification.  He  had  no  knowledge 
of  his  faults,  and  his  egotism  was  unalloyed. 


178        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

It  was  inconceivable  to  him  that  he  could 
be  abhorrent  both  physically  and  mentally 
to  the  purity  of  the  princess,  for  of  purity 
he  knew  nothing  at  all.  He  had  no  doubt 
that,  given  the  opportunity,  he  could  domi- 
nate the  girl.  And  the  opportunity  was 
here.  So,  he  answered  her  question  now  with 
conceited  insolence: 

"I  'lowed  ye  must  be  pinin'  fer  yer  Charlie, 
honey.  This  is  a  right-snug  place  fer  lovers' 
cuddlm'. "  There  was  a  venomous  signifi- 
cance in  the  latter  sentence,  for  he  was  think- 
ing of  the  time  that  Elizabeth  and  David 
had  passed  together  in  this  retreat. 

Elizabeth  understood  the  allusion,  and  re- 
sented it  as  an  insult.  She  spoke  with  a 
cold  quietude  that  should  have  warned  the 
man  before  her,  but  did  not. 

"This  is  my  private  place.  I  choose  my 
own  guests.  I  do  not  choose  you.  Go,  please, 
and  never  come  back.,, 

Goins  laughed  boisterously.  It  was  a  joke 
that  she  should  speak  to  him  like  this,  as  if 
he  were  to  be  put  out  of  countenance  by 
high-and-mighty  airs.  She  needed  to  be 
taught  a  few  things,  and  he  would  be  the 
teacher.    He  had  let  her  play  with  him  long 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        179 

enough.    It  was  time  for  her  to  learn  what 
was  what. 

1  'Show!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  rough 
joviality.  ''This  ain't  no  nice  way  fer  a  gal 
t'  talk  t'  her  husban'  what's  t'  be.  Ye  been 
standin'  off  quite  a  spell  now,  'Liz'beth,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  harder  note  in  his  voice. 
"An'  I  don't  aim  t'  let  ye  git  rambunctious 
with  ary  other  feller,  nuther.  'Tain't  fitten, 
noways.  You-all  an'  me  is  promised,  an'  I 
cal'late  as  how  ye  got  t'  run  straight,  er  it'll 
be  the  wuss  fer  ye."  He  thrust  his  lowering 
face  close  to  the  girl's,  and  scowled  at  her, 
and  the  flabby  lips  were  lifted  in  a  snarl. 

Elizabeth  did  not  draw  back,  but  stood  un- 
daunted, her  eyes  meeting  the  challenge  in 
his  with  a  supreme  scorn,  as  he  concluded: 
"I  'low  we-all  better  kiss,  an'  make  up." 

' ' Kiss  you!"  the  girl  retorted;  and  the 
loathing  in  her  voice  brought  a  flush  to  the 
man's  cheeks,  thick-skinned  as  he  was.  "I'd 
rather  Mss  a  rattler.  You've  never  kissed 
me  yet,  Charlie  Goins,  and,  what 's  more,  you 
never  will." 

The  fellow's  face  grew  black,  and  the  little, 
bead-like  eyes  shone  dangerously. 

"Ye'r'  my  promised  wife,  an'  thet's  by 


180        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

the  chief's  say-so.  Thar  hain't  no  goin' 
back  o'  thet.  I  'low  a  few  o'  my  kisses '11 
wake  ye  up  a  mite,  an'  warm  ye  inter  bein' 
more  lovin'-like.  An'  I  aim  t'  give  'em  t' 
ye." 

The  determination  in  the  girl's  face  should 
have  made  him  pause.  But  he  was  mindful 
only  of  the  gross  passion  that  burned  in  him 
at  sight  of  her  loveliness.  He  was  sure  that 
his  own  brutal  resources,  employed  here  in 
this  isolated  nook  where  no  interruption  was 
possible,  would  mold  her  to  his  desire,  would 
win  from  her  that  responsiveness  which  he 
craved.  He  lunged  forward.  The  long  arms 
swept  out  to  embrace  her.  But  the  princess 
had  divined  his  attack.  She  eluded  it  by  a 
spring  to  one  side.  At  the  same  time,  she 
swung  the  dogwhip.  The  lash  hissed  through 
the  air,  and  fell  across  Goins'  face,  over  the 
eyes.  He  yelled  an  oath,  and  staggered  back, 
blinded.  The  princess  would  have  fled,  for 
an  idea  as  to  the  peril  to  which  she  was  ex- 
posed shook  her  accustomed  self-reliance. 
But  the  man  was  between  her  and  the  mouth 
of  the  cavern,  and  she  feared  to  place  her- 
self within  his  reach.  That  this  fear  was 
justified  was  proven  a  few  moments  later, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        181 

when  the  mumbling  curses  were  broken  off, 
and  Goins  turned  toward  her  the  blurred, 
bloodshot  eyes,  from  which  the  tears  were 
streaming. 

"I'll  hev  ye  now,  damn  ye!"  he  shouted, 
and  jumped  toward  her. 

Elizabeth  dodged,  and  fled  toward  the  exit. 
But  she  was  not  quick  enough.  The  man 
whirled,  sprang  after  in  a  mighty  leap, 
caught  her.  He  held  her  crushed  to  him 
in  a  vice-like  embrace,  and  bellowed  tri- 
umphantly. 

"YeV  mine!"  he  gloated.  "I'll  show  ye, 
ye  damn'  little  spitfire!  I  'low  I'll  take 
them-thar  kisses.  I'll  l'arn  ye  how  t'  treat 
yer  promised  man." 

Even  in  her  desperate  plight,  the  girl's 
spirit  was  not  broken. 

"I'll  never  marry  you,  Charlie  Goins!" 
she  gasped.  "I've  told  pappy  so.  Never — 
never !" 

Goins'  ugly  face,  so  close  to  hers  that  she 
felt  the  fetid  breath  of  him  in  her  nostrils, 
was  distorted  by  an  evil  grin,  leering  and 
unspeakably  malignant. 

"I  reckin  ye'r'  plumb  shore  t'  change  yer 
mind    arter — "    he    paused    significantly — 


182        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

"arter  we've  done  finished  our  lovin'  hyar 
this  mo'nin'." 

Elizabeth  shuddered  at  the  implication  in 
the  words.  A  dread  that  was  like  physical 
sickness  ran  through  her,  and  she  went  limp 
within  the  constricting  arms.  She  did  not 
gain  the  merciful  relief  of  unconsciousness, 
but  she  was  wholly  unnerved  by  the  fright- 
fulness  of  her  situation,  and  so  weak  as  to 
be  utterly  helpless.  Goins  uttered  a  grunt 
of  satisfaction  as  he  felt  her  form  relax.  He 
lifted  her  easily,  and  bore  her  back  across 
the  cavern. 

Half-way  between  the  entrance  and  the 
bunk,  Goins  halted  abruptly,  and,  still  hold- 
ing his  burden,  stood  with  his  head  turned 
a  little  to  one  side,  listening  intently.  He 
heard  now,  as  Elizabeth  had  heard  a  little 
while  before,  the  crunching  of  heavy  steps 
that  approached  the  cavern.  They  came 
swiftly,  too,  and  at  the  sound  of  them  the 
Croatan's  face  changed  its  expression  of 
lustful  cruelty  for  one  of  demoniac  rage  at 
this  interruption  of  his  purpose.  His  fury 
was  even  greater  when  the  newcomer  darted 
into  the  chamber,  and  he  recognized  David. 

The  mountaineer  had  been  on  the  top  of 


THE  HOMEWARD  TEAIL        183 

the  bluff,  about  to  descend  to  the  hunting- 
lodge,  when  he  was  startled  by  Goins'  cries, 
first  of  pain  and  wrath,  and  then  of  triumph. 
David  had  no  idea  as  to  the  meaning  of  the 
shouts.  He  did  not  identify  the  voice.  But 
the  mere  fact  that  they  issued  from  the  place 
consecrated  to  Elizabeth  beset  him  with  ap- 
prehensions of  some  unimagined  catastrophe. 
He  had  no  suspicion  of  the  girl's  visit  to  the 
spot.  Nevertheless,  in  some  vague  fashion, 
he  was  filled  with  alarm,  and  before  the 
echoes  of  Goins'  exultant  yell  had  died,  he 
was  racing  down  the  path. 

Within  the  cavern,  David  stopped  short, 
confused  for  some  instants  by  the  dimming 
of  his  sight.  The  Croatan  improved  the 
momentary  respite  by  dropping  the  girl  from 
his  arms.  As  she  fell  to  the  stone  floor,  he 
leaped  for  his  enemy. 

There  had  been  time  for  David's  eyes  to 
clear.  He  recognized  the  man  and  the  girl 
before  him — understood  something  of  the 
horror  on  which  he  had  stumbled.  An  anger 
even  greater  than  Goins'  own  flamed  in  his 
blood.  It  was  greater,  more  deadly,  because 
it  was  righteous.  The  enormity  of  the  man's 
offense  against  the  woman  he  loved  roused 


184        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

David  to  a  murderous  frenzy.  The  brutal 
carelessness  with  which  the  fellow  cast  her 
from  him  maddened  the  mountaineer.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  his  rage,  David's  mind 
worked  clearly.  He  had  no  intention  of  risk- 
ing defeat  by  any  imprudence.  He  admitted 
to  himself  the  superior  strength  of  his  ad- 
versary, and  he  meant  to  keep  free  from  the 
grip  of  those  arms.  His  helplessness  in 
Lowrie's  clasp  was  in  his  memory.  He  might 
find  himself  equally  powerless  should  he  fall 
into  Goins'  clutch.  At  all  costs,  he  must 
strive  to  avoid  that  risk.  So,  as  the  Croatan 
charged,  David  swerved,  and  jumped  outside 
the  sweep  of  the  arms.  But,  as  the  other 
man  passed  him,  the  mountaineer  got  in  two 
blows,  which  brought  grunts  of  distress, 
though  they  failed  of  other  visible  effect. 

Thereafter  for  a  long  minute,  it  was  "fist 
and  skull"  between  the  two.  David  was  far 
more  skilful  in  his  footwork,  and  placed 
his  blows  with  greater  accuracy.  But  they 
seemed  wholly  unavailing  against  the  Croat- 
an 's  iron  frame.  And  always  he  was  ham- 
pered by  the  necessity  of  avoiding  the  clinch 
which  his  antagonist  as  constantly  sought. 
Sheer    desperation    at    last    drove    him   to 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL        185 

fiercer  attacks,  in  which  he  was  more  careless 
of  his  own  safety.  One  of  his  blows  sent 
Goins  staggering  away  from  him,  and  he 
closed  in  with  the  hope  of  a  speedy  victory. 
He  swung  with  all  his  weight  for  the  jaw. 
Goins  ducked  clumsily.  David's  knuckles 
glanced  from  chin  to  cheek.  He  lurched  out 
of  balance.  Before  he  could  recover,  the 
arms  he  had  dreaded  locked  about  him,  and 
he  found  himself  impotent,  strangling  under 
the  pressure  of  his  ribs  against  his  lungs. 
He  fought  as  best  he  could  to  wrench  himself 
free,  though  he  knew  the  task  was  beyond 
his  strength.  The  only  effect  of  his  strug- 
gling was  to  send  the  two  reeling  drunkenly 
to  and  fro.  There  wras  no  loosening  of  the 
Croatan's  hold. 

Elizabeth  had  been  shocked  out  of  lethargy 
by  the  violence  of  her  fall  on  the  stone  floor 
when  Goins  spurned  her.  She  sat  up  feebly, 
and  watched  the  combatants  dully  at  first, 
without  any  personal  interest  in  the  conflict. 
Then,  presently,  her  brain  grew  active  again. 
She  remembered  her  own  peril,  and  perceived 
its  sequel  here  in  the  fight  between  the  two 
men.  She  perceived  as  well  that  Goins  must 
be  vanquished  both  for  her  own  sake  and  for 


186        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

the  sake  of  the  man  she  loved.  And,  as 
realization  came  to  her,  she  groaned  in  utter 
despair,  for  she  saw  David  wrapped  about 
by  the  gorilla-like  arms  of  their  common 
enemy,  and  she  knew  that  he  could  not  win 
clear.  It  flashed  on  her  then  that  the  sole 
hope  for  the  two  of  them  rested  in  her.  The 
fighting  spirit  of  her  race  burned  hot  within 
her.  She  did  not  pause  for  thought,  but 
acted  on  instinct.  As  the  two  men  staggered 
past  her,  she  crouched  and  sprang,  and 
caught  Goins  below  the  knees.  There  she 
clung.  The  momentum  of  the  men  carried 
their  bodies  forward,  but  the  girl's  pull  held, 
and  Goins  crashed  to  the  floor,  dragging 
David  down  with  him.  The  under  man's 
head  was  beaten  against  the  rock.  A  moan- 
ing sigh  fluttered  from  between  the  coarse 
lips.  The  mighty  arms  unfolded  and  fell 
limply  at  his  sides,  as  he  lapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness. 

Elizabeth  sprang  to  her  feet,  exultant,  re- 
vivified by  the  downfall  of  the  man  she  hated. 
For  a  moment,  she  regarded  the  ugly,  flaccid 
face  with  mingled  scorn  and  detestation. 
Then  she  put  her  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
David,  who  was  getting  to  his  feet  slowly, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        187 

rather  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  sudden- 
ness of  his  victory,  just  when  he  had  aban- 
doned hope.  He  was  wholly  ignorant  of 
Elizabeth's  part  in  the  affair,  and  took  it  for 
granted  that  his  opponent  had  stumbled  and 
so  fallen. 

* '  Let  us  go, ' '  Elizabeth  said  gently.  There 
was  coldness  in  her  tones  as  she  spoke  again. 
"He'll  recover  in  time,  probably.  His  sort 
is  hard  to  kill." 

The  two  went  forth  from  the  cavern  to- 
gether. As  they  came  into  the  clean,  clear 
light  without,  it  was  as  if  they  shook  off  from 
their  souls  a  miasma  bred  by  that  other's 
presence. 

"Your  coming  saved  me,  David,"  the  girl 
said  very  softly,  and  the  music  of  her  voice 
was  vibrant  with  tenderness;  "saved  me 
from  worse  than  death." 

It  was  true  that  his  coming  had  resulted 
in  her  salvation.  It  was  true,  also,  that  his 
coming  would  have  availed  nothing  at  all 
without  her  interposition  at  the  crucial  mo- 
ment. But  of  that  she  said  nothing  to  him — 
either  then,  or  ever. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  two  covered  the  miles  almost  in 
silence.  Neither  dared  speak  much  con- 
cerning what  had  just  occurred  from  fear  of 
self-betrayal.  Each  of  them  was  drawn 
closer  to  the  other  by  the  peril  to  which  the 
girl  had  been  exposed.  To  Elizabeth,  after 
contact  with  the  vileness  of  Goins,  the  clean 
manliness  of  David  became  more  magnetic 
by  contrast.  She  longed  for  his  embrace  and 
his  kisses  as  an  anodyne  for  the  polluting 
touch  to  which  she  had  been  subjected.  But 
she  realized  with  a  new  and  keener  pang  of 
sorrow  that  the  mysterious  barrier  still 
reared  itself  between  her  and  him.  It  seemed 
indeed  more  than  ever  formidable,  inexor- 
ably shutting  him  away  from  her,  making 
him  remote  and  unattainable.  His  face,  when 
she  stole  a  look  at  it  from  time  to  time,  was 
sternly  set,  and  his  eyes  were  studiously 
averted.  Her  first  elation  over  having  es- 
caped in  safety  from  a  frightful  danger, 

188 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        189 

subsided,  and  in  its  stead  came  a  pervasive 
misery.  Her  heart  was  aching  for  the  solace 
of  love,  which  was  denied  her.  A  bitter 
spirit  of  revolt  stirred  in  her.  She  was 
tempted  to  cry  out,  to  demand  an  explana- 
tion from  this  man,  who  went  with  sealed 
lips  always,  though  he  loved  her.  But  she 
fought  down  the  impulse,  and  rode  on  in  a 
silence  that  was  filled  with  despair. 

David  fought  even  a  fiercer  fight,  and  his 
victory  over  himself  was  at  the  cost  of  quiv- 
ering nerves  and  a  tortured  heart.  The  sight 
of  this  girl  in  the  arms  of  Goins  had  re- 
vealed to  him  with  a  new  and  startling  clarity 
her  preciousness  to  him.  It  was  only  because 
for  the  time  being  his  energies  had  been  con- 
sumed in  the  struggle  with  the  Croatan  that 
he  did  not  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  pour 
out  to  her  all  his  heart  in  words  and  kisses. 
As  his  bodily  strength  was  restored,  his  will, 
too,  recruited  its  forces,  and  he  was  able  to 
hold  himself  in  mastery.  His  loyalty  to 
Ruth  still  persisted,  and  the  power  of  it  was 
such  as  to  curb  any  expression  of  the  present 
passion  for  another.  The  simplicity  of  the 
mountaineer  was  incapable  of  solving  the 
puzzle  offered  by  his  own  nature.    He  was 


190        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

utterly  baffled  by  the  problem  of  his  moods. 
He  still  thought  as  tenderly  as  ever  of  Ruth. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  loved  her  as  dearly 
as  before.  Yet  here  he  found  himself  all 
tremulous  with  longing  for  this  other  woman. 
His  primitive  mind  knew  nothing  whatsoever 
of  subtleties  concerning  magnetisms  and 
propinquities  and  the  mounting  instincts  of 
his  own  manhood.  He  went  in  silence,  since 
silence  seemed  the  only  decent  thing  for  him, 
but  the  effort  to  maintain  it  racked  his  soul 
with  anguish. 

The  two  had  come  almost  to  the  encamp- 
ment when  the  princess  spoke  decisively. 

" Don't  say  anything  about  this  to  pappy/ ' 

"But — "    David  would  have  expostulated. 

Elizabeth,  however,  interrupted  him. 

"Charlie  has  had  his  lesson,"  she  declared, 
confidently.  "I  told  him  I'd  never  marry 
him.  So  he  knows  now.  There's  no  telling 
what  pappy  might  do  if  he  knew  about  it. ' ' 

David  was  doubtful  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
the  girl's  decision,  but  he  accepted  it.  His 
own  opinion  by  no  means  coincided  with  that 
of  Elizabeth.  He  regarded  Goins  as  quite 
capable  of  making  further  mischief,  and  that 
of  the  gravest  sort.    He  said  nothing  of  this 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        191 

to  the  princess,  however.  She  was  already 
on  her  guard,  and  to  excite  additional  alarm 
could  serve  no  good  purpose.  He  had  half 
a  mind  to  tell  the  facts  privately  to  Lowrie 
in  spite  of  the  daughter's  prohibition,  but 
finally  decided  that  to  do  so  would  be  in  the 
nature  of  treachery  to  her. 

So,  the  chief  remained  in  entire  ignorance 
of  his  lieutenant 's  evil  conduct.  He  was  only 
a  little  disgusted  with  the  fellow's  clumsi- 
ness, when,  next  day,  Goins  turned  up  in  the 
encampment  with  a  bandaged  head,  which  he 
explained  by  a  bad  fall  on  the  rocks — the 
exact  truth,  without  details.  He  had  re- 
turned in  much  trepidation,  fearful  as  to 
what  might  befall  him  at  the  hands  of  an 
outraged  father,  and  his  relief  was  corre- 
spondingly great  when  he  discovered  that 
the  chief  was  in  ignorance  of  what  had 
occurred  at  the  cavern.  But  he  wondered 
mightily  as  to  the  cause  of  this  reticence  on 
the  girl's  part — for  he  rightly  attributed  the 
result  to  her  decision.  And  soon  his  specula- 
tions found  food  for  vanity.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  his  violence  had,  after  all,  affected 
the  princess  in  his  favor.  His  abnormal 
egotism  found  nothing  absurd  in  this  fancy. 


192        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  quite  reasonable 
to  his  warped  mind.  He  cherished  it  until 
it  became  a  fixed  delusion.  He  recognized 
that  the  stranger  was  still  a  rival  to  be 
reckoned  with.  But  he  convinced  himself 
that,  with  this  obstacle  removed,  he  would 
be  able  to  establish  himself  easily  enough  in 
the  girl's  good  graces.  He  took  much  com- 
fort from  the  fact  that  in  the  contest  with 
David  he  had  proved  himself  the  better  man 
before  the  eyes  of  the  princess.  She  had 
seen  him  with  his  adversary  practically  at 
his  mercy,  and  she  could  have  had  no  doubt 
as  to  the  issue  of  the  battle  between  them 
but  for  her  interference.  For  Goins  had  been 
aware  of  Elizabeth's  action  against  him, 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  overthrow. 
He  cherished  no  grudge  against  her  on  that 
account,  but  rather  an  increased  admiration 
for  her  strength  and  daring.  The  result  of 
his  slow  and  difficult  cogitations  was  to  leave 
him  certain  that  he  could  win  the  girl  to  his 
will,  once  David  was  removed.  How  that 
removal  was  to  be  effected  thenceforth  en- 
gaged his  whole  attention,  and  he  plotted 
with  the  unscrupulousness  that  was  char- 
acteristic of  him. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        193 

For  that  matter,  David  himself  was  simi- 
larly occupied  in  planning  his  own  removal 
from  the  scene.  He  feared  for  his  strength 
in  the  constant  struggle  of  self-repression 
which  he  was  waging.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
hourly  his  powers  of  resistance  were  lessen- 
ing. It  became  momently  more  difficult  for 
him  to  refrain  from  full  confession  to  Eliza- 
beth. He  distrusted  the  stability  of  his  will. 
He  did  not  hesitate  in  his  loyalty  of  purpose 
toward  Ruth,  but  he  became  suspicious  of 
his  weakness.  It  occurred  to  him  that  his 
only  safety  lay  in  flight.  Once  this  idea  took 
possession  of  him,  he  dwelt  on  it  as  offering 
the  one  possible  solution  of  his  perplexities. 
He  considered  the  matter  for  a  day,  and  be- 
came assured  that  only  by  such  a  retreat 
could  he  safeguard  himself  from  despicable 
treachery.  He  chose  to  make  his  purpose 
known  first  to  the  father,  rather  than  to  the 
daughter,  in  order  to  avoid  complications. 

He  took  an  opportunity  to  speak  when  he 
and  the  chief  were  alone  together.  The  old 
man  heard  him  through  patiently,  but  his 
comment  disconcerted  the  mountaineer. 

"  Jist  stuff  an'  nonsense l"  he  rumbled,  and 
his  voice  was  edged  with  disdain.     "Thar 


194        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

hain't  no  call  fer  ye  t'  think  about  movin'  on 
fr'm  hyar  fer  quite  a  spell  yit." 

"But  there's  reasons  why  I  got  t'  go," 
David  protested.  He  decided  that  a  part 
of  the  truth  might  serve  to  convince  his 
hearer.  * '  There 's  a  debt  what  I  've  got  t '  pay 
right  soon.  I  set  out  t'  earn  that-there 
money,  an'  it's  time  I  was  busy  a-doin'  of 
it." 

"If  thet's  all  thet's  a-bitin'  on  ye,"  Lowrie 
responded  with  a  guffaw  that  set  the  crock- 
ery on  the  shelves  to  dancing,  "why,  by 
cripes,  I'll  fix  ye  out  right  hyar.  I  was  jist 
a-thinkin'  o'  ofTerin'  t'  hire  ye,  an'  hyar 
ye  come  a-tellin'  as  how  ye  want  a  job.  I 
kin  use  a  young  feller  like  you-all.  How'd 
thutty  dollars  a  month  an'  yer  victuals  strike 
ye?" 

The  words  fairly  stunned  David.  He 
stared  aghast  at  the  chief,  unable  for  the 
moment  to  formulate  any  response.  Nor  did 
reflection  suggest  any  method  of  extricating 
himself  from  the  dilemma  presented  by 
Lowrie 's  offer.  Apart  from  the  complica- 
tions caused  by  his  feeling  toward  Elizabeth, 
this  opportunity  to  earn  the  money  he  needed 
would  have  been  altogether  satisfactory,  for 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        195 

the  wages  were  much  beyond  what  he  could 
have  expected  elsewhere.  He  could  hit  on  no 
adequate  excuse  for  a  refusal.  There  was 
indeed  no  reason  for  objection  to  the  proposi- 
tion, save  the  secret  one,  that  it  would  hold 
him  in  an  intolerable  situation.  But  he 
could  not  explain  the  full  truth  to  the  girl's 
father,  and,  because  he  could  not,  he  was  left 
defenseless  against  the  elder  man's  satisfac- 
tion in  the  project  as  one  already  settled  on. 
He  could  only  mumble  a  few  false  phrases 
of  grateful  acknowledgment,  which  Lowrie 
took  for  acceptance.  The  chief  attributed 
the  young  man's  obvious  confusion  to  a 
natural  embarrassment  over  the  boon  so  un- 
expectedly conferred.  For  a  fleeting  instant, 
David  did  think  seriously  of  making  known 
the  predicament  in  which  he  was  placed.  But 
he  dismissed  the  idea  promptly  because, 
somehow,  it  seemed  to  savor  of  injustice  to- 
ward both  the  girls  concerned.  His  decision 
might  have  been  different,  had  he  known  that 
Lowrie  was  already  aware  of  his  love  for 
Elizabeth.  With  the  fatuousness  customary 
among  lovers,  he  nourished  the  delusion  that 
he  had  kept  the  secret  of  his  heart  to  him- 
self.   He  could  not  guess  that  the  piercing 


196        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

eyes  beneath  the  old  man's  shaggy  brows  had 
read  the  scroll  of  his  emotions  like  a  printed 
page. 

David,  thus  thwarted  in  his  first  purpose 
of  an  open  departure  from  the  encampment, 
was  driven  to  determine  on  a  surreptitious 
flight.  Such  a  method  was  repellent  to  his 
native  honesty.  It  seemed  an  ignominious 
thing  to  do.  But  he  could  discover  no  other 
way.  He  resolved  to  leave  the  encampment 
the  coming  night.  Every  hour  near  the 
princess  now  increased  the  strain  upon  his 
will,  and  it  was  very  near  the  breaking  point. 
He  was  confirmed  in  his  plan  by  a  sudden 
suspicion  as  to  the  chief's  attitude  toward 
him.  That  suspicion  was  provoked  by  Low- 
rie's  final  utterance  concerning  their  future 
relations. 

"Thutty  dollars  is  a  lot  o'  money,  but  I've 
got  plenty  salted  away,  an'  so  be  I  mought 
spend  some  on  hit  a-boostin'  along  a  young 
feller  what  I  took  a  shine  ter.  You-all  'pears 
t'  me  a  pretty-likely  sort  o'  chap,  David." 
He  chuckled  contentedly.  "No  tellin'  how 
fur  ye  might  git,  boy,  with  Henry  Lowrie  t' 
back  ye." 

David  found  an  opportunity,  later  that  day, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        197 

when  he  was  alone  in  the  living-room,  to  se- 
cure a  sheet  of  notepaper  and  a  pencil.  Then 
he  went  away  by  himself  into  the  forest,  and 
there,  with  a  smooth  stone  for  a  desk,  he 
wrote  a  note  to  leave  for  the  father  and 
daughter,  whom  he  meant  to  desert  by 
stealth.  The  composition  of  the  missive 
taxed  his  ingenuity  to  the  utmost,  and,  when 
he  had  finally  finished  the  writing,  he  was 
disgusted  with  the  result,  yet  quite  unable 
to  devise  anything  better.  He  put  the  mes- 
sage in  his  pocket,  and  went  back  to  the  en- 
campment, feeling  like  a  criminal.  He  found 
the  cabin  empty,  and  improved  the  occasion 
by  a  raid  on  the  larder,  where  he  gathered 
together  scant  supplies  of  bacon,  flour  and 
coffee.  He  took  the  least  possible  allowance, 
feeling  like  a  thief  the  while.  He  knew  that 
he  had  no  choice,  however,  for  nothing  of 
his  own  was  left  from  the  river,  not  even 
his  rifle.  He  made  a  small  parcel  of  the  food, 
and  concealed  it  where  it  would  be  unlikely 
to  be  discovered  against  the  time  of  his  de- 
parture. 

Lowrie,  on  his  return  to  the  cabin,  was 
boisterously  merry,  in  high  feather  over  hav- 
ing come  to  an  arrangement  with  the  young 


198        THE  HOMEWAKD  TEAIL 

man.  When  Elizabeth  appeared,  he  made 
the  fact  known  to  her  in  manifest  expecta- 
tion of  enthusiastic  approbation  on  her  part. 
Nor  was  he  disappointed — at  the  ontset.  The 
girl  regarded  David 's  acceptance  of  her 
father's  offer  as  a  proof  that  the  barrier 
between  them  would  be  somehow  removed, 
and  she  was  filled  with  delight  as  new  hope 
flooded  her.  She  turned  to  David  with  shin- 
ing eyes  and  her  lips  bending  into  a  happy 
smile. 

"Oh,  that  will  be  splendid,  David!"  she 
said  simply.  The  cadences  in  her  voice  were 
very  tender.    "I  am  so  glad!" 

David  could  do  no  more  than  stammer  an 
unintelligible  acknowledgment.  He  felt  more 
than  ever  like  a  criminal — the  thief  of  this 
girl's  heart. 

Elizabeth  wondered  over  the  lack  of  re- 
sponsiveness in  David,  at  first  without  par- 
ticular concern,  but  soon  with  a  suspicion 
that,  after  all,  things  were  not  quite  as  they 
should  be.  The  suspicion  grew  into  a  cer- 
tainty as  the  time  passed,  and  the  young 
man  appeared  taciturn  and  distrait.  He 
plainly  avoided  her  attempts  to  draw  him 
into  conversation;  refused  even  to  meet  her 


'  THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        199 

glances.  The  father's  good  spirits  blinded 
him  to  his  guest's  somber  mood,  but  the  lov- 
ing eyes  of  the  daughter  took  note  of  every 
detail,  and  again  her  sorrow  weighed  heavily 
upon  her,  for  she  perceived  that  the  barrier 
still  stood  between  her  and  David ;  a  barrier 
of  which  she  knew  nothing  except  that  it  was 
sinister  and  impregnable.  It  was  with  a  new 
and  stronger  despair  pressing  upon  her 
spirit  that  she  early  said  good-night,  and 
went  to  her  room ;  there  to  wrestle  with  her 
trouble  in  that  infinite  and  terrible  loneliness 
which  comes  to  one  who  loves  in  vain. 

And  the  despair  in  David's  soul,  as  he 
watched  her  go,  was  neither  greater  than 
hers,  nor  less,  but  like  unto  it;  for  he  ex- 
pected never  to  look  on  her  face  again. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THAT  same  night,  Charlie  Goins  sat  late 
alone,  holding  commnnion  with  him- 
self and  seeking  inspiration  for  nefarious 
schemes  from  frequent  drafts  of  colorless 
moonshine  out  of  his  brown  jug.  But  the 
inspiration  failed  of  an  effect  satisfactory  to 
him,  though  he  drank  deep,  as  was  his  habit 
often.  His  iron  body  showed  no  ill  effect 
from  his  excesses.  The  fiery  liquor  seemed 
to  do  little  more  than  quicken  his  movements 
and  stimulate  his  brain,  so  that  wild  ideas 
came  thronging.  Each  in  turn,  however,  was 
speedily  rejected  for  one  reason  or  another. 
It  was  his  purpose  to  remove  the  stranger 
from  his  path,  but  he  meant  to  do  this  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  avoid  the  chief's  suspi- 
cion of  his  having  any  part  in  the  affair. 
Hate  counseled  murder,  but  prudence  for- 
bade. It  was  near  midnight  when,  at  last, 
he  hit  on  a  plan  that  promised  to  be  ade- 
quate.   He  decided  that,  with  the  help  of  his 

200 


THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL        201 

most  intimate  crony,  Jeames  Viccars,  lie 
would  ambush  his  enemy,  take  him  prisoner, 
and  deliver  him  up  to  the  authorities  at 
Salisbury  as  one  who  had  been  actively  en- 
gaged in  assisting  a  Union  soldier  to  escape 
from  the  prison.  Goins  reflected  that  in  this 
way  he  would  dispose  of  his  rival  for  an  in- 
definite time,  and  perhaps  be  paid  a  sum  of 
money  in  addition.  He  gulped  down  a  huge 
swig  of  the  spirits  in  celebration  of  his  hav- 
ing finally  reached  a  decision,  and  started  to 
awaken  Yiccars,  who  shared  the  cabin  with 
him,  in  order  to  make  definite  plans  for  the 
morrow. 

The  sudden  barking  of  a  dog  caused  Goins 
to  stop,  and  listen,  for  the  sound  came  from 
close  at  hand,  and  he  recognized  the  note  of 
Lowrie's  favorite  hound.  He  blew  out  the 
candle,  and,  going  to  the  door,  pushed  it  open 
softly,  and  peered  out.  The  moon  had  just 
risen.  By  its  light,  he  made  out  a  shadow 
moving  a  little  within  the  doorway  of  the 
chief's  cabin,  which  was  next  to  his  own. 
The  dog  had  ceased  barking.  Goins  could 
hear  the  hiss  of  a  whisper,  and,  a  moment 
later,  he  saw  the  form  in  the  doorway  ad- 
vance, the  dog  beside  it  capering  in  friendly 


202        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

fashion.  He  could  make  out  that  the  night 
prowler  was  a  man.  He  knew,  too,  that  the 
figure  was  not  Lowrie's.  While  it  was  im- 
possible to  distinguish  clearly  in  the  gloom, 
he  guessed  that  this  could  be  no  other  than 
the  stranger.  He  was  surprised  and  puzzled 
by  the  occurrence.  He  could  not  surmise  the 
visitor's  object  in  this  mysterious  night 
sortie.  Then  he  held  his  breath,  for  David 
was  passing  within  a  yard  of  him.  It  was  now 
that  he  saw  the  parcel  which  the  mountaineer 
carried.  At  sight  of  it,  partial  understand- 
ing came  to  the  Croatan.  It  was  plain  that 
the  visitor  was  making  a  stealthy  departure 
from  the  encampment.  The  fact  would  have 
been  incredible,  but  for  the  evidence  before 
his  eyes.  It  seemed  that,  without  any  effort 
whatsoever  on  his  part,  he  was  to  be  rid  of 
his  enemy. 

Groins  was,  notwithstanding,  by  no  means 
content.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  made  furi- 
ous by  the  thought  that  his  foe  should  escape 
punishment  at  his  hands.  He  watched 
eagerly,  fairly  shaking  with  the  rage  that  was 
on  him.  He  could  distinguish  David's  course 
down  the  cabin-lined  street  of  the  encamp- 
ment, which  would  lead  on  into  the  river 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        203 

trail.  Abruptly,  the  Croatan  came  to  a  de- 
termination. He  pushed  the  door  shut,  and 
sprang  to  the  bed  on  which  Viccars  lay 
snoring. 

"Wake  up,  mon!"  he  exclaimed  harshly, 
under  his  breath. 

A  few  rough  shakes  added  to  the  exhorta- 
tion brought  the  sleeper  to  a  sitting  position, 
blinking  and  gaping.  Under  the  insistence 
of  Goins,  Viccars  was  soon  thoroughly  awak- 
ened. He  hurried  into  his  clothes,  while  the 
other  made  rapid  explanations. 

"Thet-thar  cussed  galoot  is  a-sMnnin'  out, 
an'  I  hain't  aimin'  t'  'low  'im  t'  sneak  off 
without  gittin'  what's  comin'  t'  'im.  We'll 
chase  arter  'im,  an'  ketch  'im.    Hurry!" 

It  was  hardly  a  minute  after  David's  pass- 
ing the  door,  when  the  two  men  sallied  out 
into  the  night  in  pursuit.  They  ran  swiftly 
down  the  encampment  street,  but,  when  they 
reached  the  river  trail,  moved  with  noiseless 
tread,  though  still  rapidly.  From  time  to 
time  they  paused  to  listen.  In  one  of  these 
intervals,  after  they  had  gone  half  a  mile  or 
more  through  the  forest,  they  heard  the 
sounds  of  David's  advance,  as  he  went  care- 
lessly without  any  suspicion  of  being  fol- 


204        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

lowed.  The  pursuers  now  moderated  their 
pace,  so  as  to  keep  within  hearing  distance, 
but  sufficiently  in  the  rear  to  escape  detection. 

"We'll  f oiler  till  'e  halts,"  Goins  decided. 
"Then  we'll  steal  up  on  'im,  an'  jump  'im 
together.  I  got  rawhides  in  my  pocket,  an' 
while  I  hold  'im,  ye '11  tie  'im  up." 

"An'  then  what  ye  goin'  t'  do  with  'im?" 
Viccars  demanded,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"None  o'  yer  business,"  Goins  growled, 
in  surly  rebuke.  "An'  besides,  I  hain't  made 
up  my  mind  yit." 

At  the  fork  in  the  trail  as  it  came  near  the 
river,  David  swung  into  the  branch  that  led 
southward,  and  behind  him  the  pursuers 
kept  their  place.  The  three  traveled  steadily 
throughout  the  remaining  hours  of  the  night, 
and  Goins  had  ample  time  in  which  to  formu- 
late his  further  plans.  He  confirmed  his 
earlier  decision  to  take  his  enemy  to  Salis- 
bury as  a  prisoner,  and  made  known  his  pur- 
pose to  his  assistant.  Yet  the  virulence  of 
his  hatred  made  this  project  unsatisfactory 
to  him,  since  he  lusted  to  wreak  vengeance 
with  his  own  hands  on  the  man  who  had 
humiliated  him  in  the  presence  of  his  fel- 
lows.   As  he  shambled  forward,  his  heavily 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        205 

muscled  fingers  twitched  from  time  to  time 
in  reflex  from  his  fierce  desire  to  be  at  the 
stranger's  throat. 

Dawn  was  breaking  when,  at  last,  David 
made  his  camp  within  a  sheltered  glade  at 
some  distance  from  the  trail  itself.  Goins 
and  Viccars,  moving  with  increased  precau- 
tion, concealed  themselves  behind  a  shelter 
of  thick-growing  shrubs  on  the  side  of  the 
glade  furthest  from  the  spot  where  David 
had  established  himself,  and  thence  they 
watched  his  operations,  in  readiness  to  seize 
the  most  favorable  moment  for  attack. 

"We'll  jump  'im  when  'e's  busy  cookin', 
an'  bent  over,  an'  with  'is  back  t'  us,"  Goins 
whispered.     "When  I  nudge  ye,  come  on." 

There  was  no  hitch  in  the  execution  of  the 
plan.  David  was  on  his  knees  before  the 
fire  which  he  had  kindled,  holding  the  sauce- 
pan over  the  flames,  when  the  two  men  stole 
forth  from  their  hiding  place,  and  crept 
across  the  glade,  their  moccasined  feet  mov- 
ing soundlessly  on  the  turf.  It  was  not  until 
they  were  almost  upon  him  that  David,  un- 
warned by  any  noise,  sensed  their  presence, 
and  turned,  startled.  But  it  was  too  late. 
Even  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  twin  shapes 


206        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

bulking  darkly  behind  him  in  the  gray  light, 
the  assailants  leaped  upon  him.  It  was  only 
a  matter  of  seconds  before  his  capture  was 
fully  effected.  At  the  first  onslaught,  Goins 
clutched  him  in  arms  that  were  like  bands  of 
steel.  David  remembered  that  embrace,  and 
realized,  with  a  quick  sensation  of  despair, 
that,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  he  had 
fallen  into  the  possession  of  Goins.  The 
utter  unexpectedness  of  the  attack,  too,  dis- 
heartened him,  so  that,  though  he  fought 
desperately,  he  had  no  hope  of  victory.  He 
struggled  the  harder  when  he  felt  his  hands 
drawn  together  by  Goins'  assistant,  but  he 
was  powerless  to  prevent  the  binding  of  the 
rawhide  around  his  wrists.  His  one  moment 
of  satisfaction  was  when  the  fellow  attempted 
to  tie  his  ankles  together,  and  David  caught 
him  with  a  kick  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach, 
which  doubled  him  up,  gasping  and  groan- 
ing for  five  minutes  before  he  could  recover 
his  breath,  while  Goins  cursed  him  for  his 
clumsiness.  In  his  second  attempt,  however, 
Viccars  was  more  cautious,  and  presently  the 
two  men  let  go  of  their  victim,  who  lay  help- 
less, bound  hand  and  foot. 

1  '  Thar,  damn  ye ! ' '  Goins  shouted,  his  voice 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        207 

rasping  with  vindictive  triumph.  "Take 
thet!"  he  added,  and  struck  a  coward's  blow 
full  in  David's  face.  "I'll  l'arn  ye  a  thing 
er  two,  afore  I'm  done  with  ye,  ye  whelp!" 
He  swaggered  around  the  prostrate  man, 
belching  threats  interlarded  with  oaths  and 
obscenities. 

David  listened  in  silence  until,  finally, 
Goins  wearied.  Then,  he  spoke  for  the  first 
time,  with  a  contemptuous  drawl. 

"  'Pears  like  ye  must  be  a  heap  fonder  of 
me  than  what  ye  say,  if  ye'r'  aimin'  t'  keep 
me  here  jest  as  I  was  a-leavin'." 

"I  'low  they'll  do  the  keepin'  o'  ye  fer 
me  down  t'  Salisbury  prison,"  Goins  re- 
torted. "They're  honin'  t'  git  a  holt  on  sich 
Yank '-runners  as  you-all."  He  added  a  list 
of  unprintable  epithets,  to  which  their  object 
appeared  to  give  no  heed  whatsoever. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  David  was  occupied 
with  an  intense  endeavor  to  evolve  a  method 
of  extrication  from  this  new  trouble  into 
which  he  had  fallen.  Goins '  words  had  made 
him  realize  for  the  first  time  the  danger  to 
which  he  was  exposed  at  the  hands  of  the 
Confederate  authorities  for  having  aided  the 
escape  of  a  Union  prisoner.     Hitherto,  he 


208        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

had  carelessly  regarded  the  affair  with  Mor- 
ris as  a  matter  between  him  and  his  own 
conscience.  Now,  however,  he  was  forced  to 
recognition  of  the  fact  that  his  impetuous 
act  in  assisting  the  fugitive  was  a  disloyal 
procedure,  for  which  he  might  have  to  pay 
a  serious  penalty.  It  was  evident  that,  in 
order  to  avoid  danger  from  this  source,  he 
must  first  of  all  contrive  to  escape  from  his 
present  captivity.  How  to  accomplish  this, 
however,  was  a  question  beyond  his  powers 
to  answer.  He  stopped  his  ears  to  the  taunts 
and  jeers  of  Goins,  while  he  concentrated  his 
whole  mind  on  the  problem,  but  he  could  find 
no  way  out.  There  were  two  against  him; 
he  was  bound  and  helpless  in  their  power. 
His  final  conclusion  was  that  he  must  wait 
with  what  patience  he  could  command  in  the 
hope  of  an  opportunity  being  offered  some- 
where along  the  way.  At  least,  he  reflected, 
his  captors  must  untie  his  feet  before  setting 
forth  on  the  long  march  to  Salisbury. 

Presently,  despite  his  intention  of  not 
listening,  David  caught  something  that  Goins 
was  saying. 

"A  puny  darn'  pup  what  has  V  git  a 
woman  t'  fight  fer  'mi!"  were  the  words  that 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        209 

arrested  the  mountaineer's  attention.  He 
flared  instantly,  for  he  was  sure  that  some 
reference  to  Elizabeth  was  meant,  although 
he  could  not  understand  the  implication. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

Goins  grinned  evilly,  pleased  over  having 
provoked  his  prisoner  to  a  display  of  interest. 

"I  was  tellin'  ye  what  a  wuthless  kind  o' 
critter  ye  be,"  he  declared  truculently.  "Ye 
wa'n't  able  t'  stan'  up  t'  me  like  a  mon,  but 
hed  t'  beller  fer  he'p  fr'm  a  gal." 

"That's  a  lie!"  David  answered;  and  he 
believed  that  it  was. 

Goins  sneered. 

"Thar  in  the  cliff  I  hed  ye  as  I  wanted  ye. 
I'd  'a'  bust  ye  in  a  minute  more,  if  so  be 
'Liz'beth  hedn't  kotched  me  by  the  leg,  an' 
trun  me — the  sassy  cat ! ' ' 

"It's  a  lie,"  David  repeated.  But  now  his 
voice  lacked  conviction,  and  the  Croatan  was 
quick  to  notice  the  change.  He  stared  at  his 
captive  malevolently,  and  then  his  loose  lips 
twisted  in  a  derisive  grin. 

"Cussed  if  I  don't  believe  ye  never  knew 
she  grabbed  me."  He  roared  with  laughter, 
the  mockery  in  which  brought  a  shamed 
flush  to  David's  cheeks.    "An'  she  never  toP 


210        THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL 

ye.  She  sure  is  a  buster,  thet-thar  gal.  She 
let  ye  go  on  thinkin'  ye  was  quite  some 
punkins  fer  a  fighter.  Why,  ye  blasted 
sucker,  I  kin  lambast  the  tar  out  o'  ye  any 
day  in  the  week  with  one  han'.  An'  ye 
thought  ye  licked  me  ail  by  yer  li'l'  own  self. 
Ho!  ho!  ho !" 

The  burst  of  scornful  laughter  was  echoed 
by  the  faithful  Viccars. 

There  was  a  sincerity  in  the  Croatan's 
voice  that  compelled  belief  on  David's  part, 
reluctant  as  he  was  to  admit  the  truth,  that 
he  had  been  saved  in  the  conflict  by  the  in- 
tervention of  the  princess.  But  out  of  the 
whirling  confusion  of  his  thoughts  an  idea 
stood  forth  for  use  in  this  emergency.  He 
acted  upon  it  without  an  instant  of  delay. 
His  voice  when  he  spoke  again  had  a  different 
tone,  resonant  with  insolent  challenge. 

"YeV  jest  a  natural-born  liar,  Goins.  I 
showed  ye  up  afore  yer  whole  tribe.  An' 
yeV  lyin'  'bout  what  happened  in  the  cave, 
where  I  whipped  ye  good  an'  fair,  so  ye  come 
crawlin'  home  next  day  with  yer  head  in  a 
rag.  An'  when  ye  come  arter  me  now,  ye 
had  to  bring  somebody  t'  he'p  ye.  Ye  hain't 
got  sand  t'  tackle  yer  dirty  work  alone  arter 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        211 

the  lesson  I  give  yer  there  in  the  cave.  Ye'r' 
a  liar  an'  a  blowhard,  an'  ye  can't  fight  fer 
shucks.  I  know,  'cause  IV  fit  ye,  an'  licked 
ye,  an'  tain't  no  man's  job,  nuther." 

Goins  became  apoplectic  under  the  gibes. 
He  was  wounded  in  his  most  sensitive  part, 
vanity  over  his  physical  prowess.  The  re- 
sentment that  flamed  hot  in  him  destroyed 
all  discretion.  He  gave  way  to  a  frenzy  of 
murderous  hate. 

"I'll  show  ye!"  he  screamed.  "I'll  l'arn 
ye  what  Charlie  Goins  kin  do.  I'll  kill  ye 
with  my  two  han's,  an'  chuck  yer  body  back 
inter  the  river  ye  come  out  on.  I  say,  I'll 
kill  ye,  damn  ye  t'  hell." 

"When  I'm  tied  up,  an'  with  yer  man  t' 
he'p  ye,"  David  sneered. 

The  taunt  drove  the  Croatan  distracted. 
He  threw  off  his  coat,  and  leaped  upon  it. 
His  face  was  black  with  rage,  the  features 
working  horribly. 

"Cut  'im  loose!"  he  shouted  to  Viccars. 

"Oh,  hell!"  David  drawled,  with  an  in- 
flection of  contempt  calculated  to  madden  the 
Croatan  still  further.  "Quit  yer  bluffin'. 
Ye  don't  dast.  Ye'r'  plumb  scairt  o' 
me." 


212        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

1 '  Cut  'im  loose— cut  'im  loose ! ' '  Goins  re- 
peated furiously. 

Viccars  went  forward  obediently,  though 
with  evident  reluctance.  He  would  have  ven- 
tured a  protest,  but  Goins  silenced  him.  A 
moment  later,  the  blade  of  his  clasp-knife 
sheared  through  the  thongs  at  David's  wrists 
and  ankles.  Viccars  sprang  aside,  as  the  re- 
leased prisoner  came  to  his  feet  with  a  bound, 
and  in  the  same  instant  Goins  bore  down  with 
a  shriek  of  triumph. 

The  mountaineer  had  not  been  in  duress 
long  enough  to  stiffen  the  muscles,  and  he 
easily  stepped  aside  from  the  Croatan's  rush. 
The  momentum  of  his  plunge  carried  Goins 
for  a  rod  or  more  across  the  glade  before 
he  could  check  himself.  As  he  turned  to  at- 
tack again,  he  heard  a  wild  cry  from  Viccars. 

Facing  about,  he  halted  in  his  tracks,  and 
stared,  astounded.  His  henchman  was  danc- 
ing about  in  wild  excitement,  yelling  unin- 
telligibly. There  was  no  one  else  within  the 
glade.    The  prisoner  had  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  man  is  a  fool  who  lets  vanity  stand 
in  his  way  at  a  crisis.  David  was  no 
fool.  He  had  never  been  a  coward;  he  had 
never  fled  from  a  foe.  Bnt,  when  the  great 
idea  sprang  np  in  his  brain,  he  welcomed  it, 
and  acted  npon  it  without  a  thought  of  ig- 
nominy. He  played  npon  Goins'  foible.  He 
deliberately  taunted  the  fellow  into  a  frenzy, 
in  the  hope  that  this  frenzy  would  lead  to 
folly,  as  it  did.  David  knew  that  his  strategy 
exposed  him  to  the  peril  of  death  at  the 
hands  of  the  Croatan.  The  risk  did  not  daunt 
him.  He  accepted  it  gladly  because  it  offered 
the  sole  possibility  of  escape.  He  matched 
his  wits  against  his  enemy's  brute  force.  He 
had  no  feeling  of  shame  over  his  device, 
which  was  based  on  running  away  from  the 
danger.  Shame  did  not  touch  him  then  or 
thereafter  for  his  preference  of  flight  to  de- 
struction. So,  when  Goins  hurled  himself 
forward,   David,  having   dodged  the   rush, 

-  213  ; 


214        THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL 

took  to  his  heels  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Before  Yiccars  had  divined  his  purpose,  he 
had  crossed  the  glade,  and  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  wood.  By  the  time  Goins  had 
learned  the  truth,  his  intended  victim  was  a 
full  two  hundred  yards  off.  The  Croatans 
gave  chase  as  best  they  could,  but  their  pace 
was  slow  compared  with  that  of  the  fugitive, 
and  Goins  wasted  his  breath  in  squealing 
anathemas  on  him  who  fled. 

David  was  a  swift  runner.  Accustomed  to 
the  woods  as  he  was,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
traveling  fast  and  far.  His  best  speed  was 
maintained  steadily  for  a  half -hour.  At  the 
expiration  of  that  time,  he  was  convinced 
that  he  had  eluded  his  pursuers,  and  that 
with  due  precaution  against  surprise  he 
would  be  safe.  His  exertions  had  strained 
him  to  the  utmost,  and  he  sought  a  retreat 
within  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of  bushes, 
where  he  might  be  undiscovered  even  by  any 
one  passing  within  a  few  yards  of  him. 
There  he  stretched  himself  on  the  turf  to 
rest  his  heaving  lungs  and  aching  muscles. 
When  he  had  rested  sufficiently,  he  went  for- 
ward again,  treading  quietly  and  with  eyes 
watchful  for  any  emergency. 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TKAIL        215 

David's  course  was  chosen  with  reluctance, 
but,  once  the  decision  was  made,  he  advanced 
resolutely,  despite  the  qualms  that  assailed 
him.  He  had  determined  to  return  to  the 
Croatan  encampment.  There  were  a  number 
of  reasons  for  this.  In  the  first  place,  sordid 
necessity  compelled  him.  His  small  quantity 
of  supplies  remained  behind  him  in  the  glade 
where  he  had  been  set  upon  by  Goins  and 
Viccars.  To  return  in  search  of  the  food 
would  be  to  invite  another  encounter  with 
the  Croatan.  Moreover,  he  doubted  his 
ability  to  retrace  his  steps  to  the  glade. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  the  lost  ra- 
tions hardly  figured  in  his  calculations.  His 
attention  was  given,  rather,  to  the  necessity 
of  making  known  all  the  facts  to  Chief  Low- 
rie.  His  adventure  had  given  him  a  new 
knowledge  of  Goins'  dangerous  qualities. 
He  regretted  his  promise  to  Elizabeth  of 
silence  concerning  the  lieutenant's  attack  on 
her  in  the  cavern.  He  meant  to  break  that 
promise  at  the  earliest  opportunity.  For  the 
girl's  sake,  the  father  must  be  warned. 

David  realized  that  it  would  be  necessary 
also  to  explain  his  own  secret  departure.  He 
hated  the  confession  this  would  involve,  but 


216        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

he  was  in  no  mood  for  half-measures,  and 
vowed  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  The 
truth  might  be — indeed,  would  be — trying  to 
all  concerned,  but  it  offered  the  only 
means  of  relief.  There  must  be  no  further 
deceit. 

David's  first  rapid  flight  had  led  him  north- 
ward toward  the  encampment.  Afterward, 
he  walked  swiftly,  and  it  was  not  yet  noon 
when  he  approached  his  destination.  He  was 
just  rounding  a  bend  in  the  river-trail  less 
than  half  a  mile  from  the  settlement,  when 
he  was  startled  by  a  sudden  clatter  of  hoofs, 
and  a  horseman  came  galloping  toward  him. 
It  was  Chief  Lowrie  himself,  who,  at  sight  of 
David,  pulled  his  horse  to  its  haunches,  and 
let  out  a  great  roar  of  joyous  greeting. 

"Why,  David  boy,  consarn  ye!"  he  rum- 
bled. "Whar  in  Tunket  ye  been?"  The 
heavy  features  were  radiant  with  welcome. 
"We  jist  nacherly  cal'lated  ye  was 
plumb  losted.  Whar  in  all  'nation  hev  ye 
been?" 

David  answered  promptly,  though  his  em- 
barrassment was  painfully  evident  in  his 
flushed  face  and  in  the  hesitant  tone  with 
which  he  spoke. 


THE  HOMEWABD  TKAIL        217 

"I  set  out  t'  leave  the  camp  last  night,' ' 
he  explained.  "There's  reasons  why  I 
couldn't  take  up  with  yer  offer.  I  left  a 
note  fer  ye  an'  'Liz'beth.  But  I  didn't 
rightly  tell  ye  all  my  reason  in  that-there 
writin'." 

"Fust  I've  hearn  tell  o'  any  note,"  Lowrie 
asserted.  His  features  had  become  forbid- 
ding. "Mebbe  'Liz'beth  come  on  hit,  an' 
was  aimin'  not  t'  tell  me  anythin'  till  she 
got  good  an'  ready.'' 

"I  'low  I'll  have  t'  tell  ye  all  about  it," 
David  returned  miserably.  "But  first  I  want 
V  warn  ye  'g'inst  that-there  pesky  Charlie 
Goins." 

"What  the  devil  is  Charlie  Goins  t'  you- 
all?"  The  chief's  manner  was  now  suddenly 
menacing. 

"It's  a  devil  of  a  lot  t'  you-all,"  David 
retorted,  with  spirit.  "I  come  on  him  over 
there  in  'Liz'beth's  cave,  where  he'd  fol- 
lowed her,  unbeknownst  to  her.  She'd  kind 
o*  fainted  like,  an'  he  was  carryin'  her  in 
his  arms  when  I  got  there.  He  drapped  her, 
an'  we  fit,  an'  went  down  together,  an'  he 
got  his  head  broke  agin  the  rock,  an'  so 
'Liz'beth  an'  me  come  away." 


218        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

The  chief's  face  was  contorted  with  rage, 
and  the  black  eyes  blazed. 

"Why  didn't  ye  tell  me  this  afore?"  he 
demanded. 

"  'Cause  'Liz'beth  made  me  promise  not 
t'  say  anything  about  it,"  David  re- 
plied. 

"I'll  l'arn  'im  t'  lay  ban's  on  my  darter — 
an'  'er  nnwillin',"  Lowrie  said,  less  loudly 
than  he  usually  spoke;  but  his  voice  was 
ominous.  ' t  Hain  't  seen  nothin '  o '  'im  t  '-day. 
So  be,  ye  didn't  'appen  t'  run  inter  'im  any- 
whar,  did  ye ! " 

David  smiled  wryly. 

"Not  edzakly,"  he  stated.  "But  he  run 
inter  me.  Fact  is,  he  kotched  me,  an'  planned 
t'  take  me  t'  Salisbury,  an'  give  me  up  there. 
But  I  got  away." 

"I  don't  understan'  hit  a  tall,"  Lowrie  re- 
sponded, frowning  heavily.  "But  I  under- 
stan' enough  t'  make  me  want  t'  git  my 
hooks  on  thet-thar  snake,  an'  scotch  'im. 
Got  an  idear  whar's  'e's  at?" 

David  shook  his  head. 

1 '  Some  'res  off  there,  I  reckon. ' '  He  waved 
his  hand  toward  the  south.  "I  'low  he  an* 
the  feller  with  him  are  some  fur  behind, 


THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL        219 

bein'  as  how  I  streaked  it  right  smart  arter 
I  got  away." 

''I'll  round  'im  up  mighty  soon,"  the  chief 
grated.  With  the  words,  he  wheeled  his 
horse,  and  went  clattering  back  toward  the 
encampment. 

David  followed  at  a  leisurely  gait.  He 
had  gone  less  than  half  a  mile,  when  he  drew 
aside  from  the  trail  in  order  to  let  a  caval- 
cade of  the  Croatans  sweep  past  him.  Each 
of  the  horsemen  carried  a  rifle,  and  at  the 
head  of  the  company  rode  Lowrie  himself, 
his  massive  features  set  in  lines  of  vindictive 
purpose. 

The  party  passed  without  paying  any  ap- 
parent heed  to  the  wayfarer.  David  went 
forward  again,  and  soon  reached  the  encamp- 
ment, where  he  entered  the  chief 's  cabin.  As 
he  pushed  the  door  shut  behind  him,  he  saw 
Elizabeth  sitting  at  the  little  table,  with  her 
head  bowed  on  her  arms.  She  looked  up  at 
the  sound  of  the  door  closing.  Then  she 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  stood  staring,  her 
eyes  darkly  luminous  through  a  film  of  tears, 
her  cheeks  pallid  beneath  their  golden  tint. 
She  neither  moved  nor  spoke  during  long 
moments,  while  David,  too,  stood  motionless, 


220        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

regarding  her  with  all  his  heart  in  the  stead- 
fast gaze.  At  last,  the  girl's  breath  exhaled 
in  a  long-drawn  sigh  where  many  and  poign- 
ant emotions  mingled. 

"David!"  she  whispered  doubtfully.  It 
was  as  if  she  conld  not  believe  yet  in  the 
real  ty  of  his  presence  there  with  her. 

Diivid  went  toward  her.  He  went  slowly, 
almost  as  if  reluctantly,  as  if  compelled 
against  his  will  by  some  invisible  force  that 
was  stronger  than  he.  Yet,  for  all  this  seem- 
ing of  reluctance,  a  supreme  delight  thrilled 
in  his  blood.  He  had  thought  never  to  look 
on  her  face  again.  And  now  she  was  there 
before  him.  His  glances  could  feast  their  fill 
on  her  loveliness.  The  joy  of  the  moment 
shone  in  his  expression.  The  sight  of  it 
warmed  her  like  a  rich  wine  of  life.  She 
knew  that  this  was  no  phantom  conjured  up 
by  her  longing,  but  the  man  himself  in  the 
flesh,  the  man  whom  she  loved ;  and  she  knew 
as  well  that  he  loved  her.  She  took  a  step 
to  meet  him,  and  then,  without  any  intention 
on  the  part  of  either,  they  were  in  each 
other  's  arms.  Elizabeth 's  hands  were  clasped 
about  David's  neck.  He  held  her  close,  and 
their  hearts  beat  together  in  the  rapture  of 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        221 

that  embrace.  Elizabeth's  face  was  bidden 
in  his  bosom.  David  bent  his  head,  and  his 
lips  touched  the  dusky  tendrils  of  hair,  whose 
fragrance  steeped  his  senses  in  ecstasy. 
There  was  no  word  between  them  for  a  long 
time,  nor  any  further  caress. 

Presently,  Elizabeth  stirred,  and  sighed 
again — a  sigh  of  exquisite  happiness.  Then, 
very  slowly,  she  withdrew  herself  from 
David's  arms.  She  looked  up  at  him,  her 
eyes  aglow  with  adoration,  her  lips  curving 
in  a  smile  of  infinite  content. 

"I  read  your  letter.  It  said  you  must  go. 
I  thought  I'd  never  see  you  again,  David. 
I  couldn't  understand  anything — only  I  suf- 
fered— oh,  so  horribly!  And  now  you're 
here,  David!    And  I  am — oh,  so  happy!" 

Somehow,  her  frank  expression  of  pleasure 
in  his  presence  awoke  the  mountaineer  from 
his  dream  of  bliss.  He  recalled,  with  a  sick- 
ening dismay,  the  obligation  that  must  hold 
him  apart  from  her  who  had  so  gladly  come 
into  his  arms.  The  radiance  went  out  of  his 
face ;  it  became  drawn  and  haggard. 

The  girl,  watching  him  so  intently,  saw 
the  change,  and  was  terrified  by  it.  She  saw 
the  despair  looking  out  at  her  from  his  eyes. 


222        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

A  like  despair  fell  on  her  heart,  and  blotted 
out  all  its  joy.  She  knew  that  the  barrier, 
which  for  a  few  blessed  moments  she  had 
wholly  forgotten,  still  stood,  immutable,  be- 
tween her  and  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

DAVID  fairly  ached  for  the  relief  of  full 
explanation  to  this  girl,  whom,  he  felt, 
he  had  wronged  by  his  silence  hitherto.  But 
he  found  himself  tongue-tied,  stricken  dumb 
by  the  suffering  written  on  her  face.  There 
followed  a  period  of  painful  indecision  on 
the  part  of  both,  in  which  no  word  was 
spoken.  It  was  Elizabeth  who,  at  last,  shook 
herself  free  from  the  spell  of  constraint  that 
held  them  mute.  She  turned  toward  David 
with  a  look  of  reproach,  and  spoke  in  a  voice 
of  cold  accusation. 

"You  told  pappy  about  Charlie — there  in 
the  cave.    You  promised  you  wouldn't." 

David  welcomed  the  diversion  to  any  topic 
rather  than  the  one  that  so  troubled  his  spirit. 
He  felt  no  reproach  in  this  matter  of  having 
advised  the  chief  of  the  truth  concerning 
Goins,  and  so  answered  confidently. 

"I  jest  had  t'  tell  yer  pappy,  'cause  that- 
there  Goins  ain't  noways  a  safe  critter  t' 

223 


224        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

have  around  loose.  When  I  found  he  was 
willin'  t'  kill  me,  I  woke  up  enough  t5  know 
as  how  he  might  be  dangerous  fer  you-all, 
too." 

At  the  mountaineer's  words,  Elizabeth's 
hands  went  to  her  bosom  in  a  gesture  of 
alarm.  Her  eyes  dilated  as  she  regarded  the 
speaker  with  new  apprehension  in  her  gaze. 

"Charlie  tried  to  kill  you?"  she  asked 
hurriedly.    Her  voice  was  trembling. 

1  i  Why,  yes, ' '  David  replied.  ' '  I  'low  there 
ain't  no  manner  o'  doubt  about  that.  Didn't 
yer  pappy  tell  ye?" 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  declared;  and  her  tone  carried 
an  inflection  of  dismay.  "He  was  just  boil- 
ing over  about  Charlie,  but  it  was  all  about 
what  happened  over  there  at  the  river.  I 
didn't  know  anything  about  this  other  matter 
between  you  and  Charlie.  Tell  me,"  she  in- 
sisted, "what  was  it?" 

David  related  the  story  of  his  adventure 
with  Goins  and  Yiccars.  He  was  curious  to 
know  how  Elizabeth  would  regard  the  ruse 
by  which  he  had  succeeded  in  making  his 
escape.  He  was  gratified  by  her  comment 
when  he  came  to  the  end. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        225 

" Thank  God,"  she  exclaimed  tensely,  "you 
were  able  to  outwit  him!"  She  was  silent 
for  a  few  moments,  thinking  deeply,  and  from 
the  expression  on  her  face  it  was  clear  that 
her  thoughts  were  not  pleasant  ones.  When 
she  spoke  again,  her  voice  was  bitter.  Her 
eyes  flashed  with  a  light  that  was  stern,  al- 
most cruel  in  its  suggestion.  "Charlie  has 
gone  far  enough,  now,"  she  said  evenly. 
"You  can  leave  him  out  of  your  calculations 
for  the  future.  Pappy  will  attend  to  him." 
She  smiled,  and  her  face  softened.  "You 
see,  David,  it  was  because  I  know  pappy  so 
well  that  I  made  you  promise  not  to  say  any- 
thing about  what  Charlie  did.  I  thought 
Charlie  had  had  his  lesson,  and  would  behave 
himself.  I  didn't  want  him  punished  by 
pappy  in  one  of  his  rages.  But  now,  since 
he's  tried  to  kill  you" — her  face  grew  for- 
bidding again — "why,  I  don't  care  what 
pappy  does  to  him.  He  can't  be  punished 
worse  than  he  deserves." 

"Shucks!"  David  expostulated.  "What 
he  done  t'  me  wa'n't  nothin'  so  much  V  git 
scairt  about.  I  'low  I  wouldn't  have  been  so 
terrible  af eared  o'  him — even  if  I  did  run 
away  from  him  this  mornin'." 


226        THE  HOMEWAED  TKAIL 

But  once  more  Elizabeth  shook  her  head 
emphatically. 

"Charlie's  not  yonr  sort,"  she  responded. 
Her  lips  were  bent  in  a  smile  that  was  very 
tender,  in  spite  of  its  sorrowful  droop.  "You 
couldn't  fight  him,  because  he  wouldn't  fight 
fair.  Likely  as  not,  he'd  shoot  you  in  the 
back  next  time." 

Brave  as  he  was,  David  shuddered.  It  was 
not  pleasant  to  think  of  himself  as  treacher- 
ously done  to  death  by  this  villainous  enemy. 
Yet  he  knew  that  the  girl  spoke  truly,  and 
that  he  was  exposed  to  a  very  real  peril.  He 
welcomed  the  distraction  afforded  by  the  re- 
turn of  the  chief,  who  at  this  moment  thrust 
open  the  cabin  door,  and  burst  into  the  room 
noisily. 

"Got  'im  right  smack  off,"  were  his  first 
words,  roared  out  in  savage  triumph.  "  'Im 
an'  Viccars,  both!"  He  shot  a  glance  at 
David.  "They  wa'n't  fur  behind  ye,  young 
feller." 

"Then  they've  been  brought  in?"  Eliza- 
beth questioned.  She  was  plainly  heartened 
by  the  news  that  the  offender  against  herself 
— and  David — had  been  captured. 

The  chief  nodded. 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        227 

"Both  hyar  in  the  camp,  under  guard,  an' 
waitin'  fer  me  t'  pronounce  jedgmint  agin 
'em.  Which  same  shall  be  jist  as  soon's  I 
git  over  my  mad — which  I  hain't  done  yit  by 
a  dum'  sight.  But  I'll  be  ca'm  putty  quick, 
an'  then  I'll  administer  jestice  on  them-thar 
two  skunks.  An'  may  God  A 'mighty  'ave 
mercy  on  their  souls!" 

The  Croatan  girl,  who  was  busy  preparing 
the  noonday  meal,  called  to  Elizabeth.  The 
two  men  were  left  alone  together  at  one  end 
of  the  long  room.  David  improved  the  op- 
portunity to  address  the  chief  in  tones  care- 
fully lowered,  so  that  the  princess  should  not 
overhear. 

"I've  got  t'  do  some  explainin'  t'  you-all, 
chief,"  he  said,  with  very  evident  embarrass- 
ment. "I  said  in  that-there  letter  I  wrote 
as  how  I  had  t'  go  away.  I  didn't  say  right 
out  why.  Now,  I  'low  as  how  I  ought  t'  tell 
ye  the  whole  business,  an'  I  want  a  chance 
t9  speak  my  mind  when  Elizabeth  ain't  about, 
seein'  it  has  somethin'  to  do  with  her." 

Lowrie  fastened  a  piercing  stare  on  the 
mountaineer,  who  avoided  it,  and  was  mani- 
festly ill  at  ease  under  the  scrutiny. 

"I  aim  t'  hear  all  what  ye  got  t'  say,"  he 


228        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

mumbled.  "But  this-hyar  other  thing  has 
got  V  be  'tended  ter  fust.  I  reckon  I'm 
putty-nigh  cooled  off  enough  now  V  act  as 
jedge.  Leastways,  I  caHate  I  kin  keep  my 
han's  off  thet-thar  snake  when  *e  stan's  up 
afore  me — which  is  a  heap  niore'n  'e's  got 
any  right  V  expect  arter  layin'  'is  dirty 
fingers  on  my  gal. ' '  At  the  words,  the  black 
eyes  flamed  with  such  wrath  that  David  real- 
ized in  a  measure  the  mighty  passion  which 
was  held  in  restraint. 

The  chief  said  nothing  more,  but  turned 
and  strode  out  of  the  cabin.  The  mountaineer 
followed  him,  partly  to  avoid  being  left  with 
Elizabeth,  since  he  did  not  yet  feel  able  to 
make  his  revelation  to  her;  and  partly  in 
order  to  be  a  spectator  at  this  scene  of  primi- 
tive justice  which  was  about  to  be  enacted. 

Lowrie  came  to  a  halt  on  the  level  stretch 
of  sward  before  the  cabin,  and  gave  an  order 
to  one  of  his  men,  who  was  waiting  near  at 
hand. 

"Bring  out  the  prisoners." 

The  fellow  addressed  passed  the  word 
along.  There  was  a  stir  among  the  group  of 
men  gathered  before  one  of  the  cabins  a  little 
way  down  the  line.     The  door  was  opened, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        229 

and  the  two  captives  appeared,  shambling 
along,  their  hands  tied  behind  their  backs, 
surrounded  by  armed  guards.  When  the 
party  reached  the  chief,  it  came  to  a  stand- 
still, with  the  two  guilty  men  facing  the  auto- 
crat. They  stood  with  hang-dog  mien,  slouch- 
ing forlornly,  their  eyes  on  the  ground.  It 
was  plain  that  they  had  no  hope  of  mercy. 
David,  from  an  inconspicuous  position  be- 
hind the  circle  of  Croatans,  could  see  Low- 
rie's  face,  and  he  winced  at  sight  of  the 
ferocity  that  showed  there.  It  was  on  Goins 
that  the  chief's  fierce  eyes  were  fixed.  Not 
once  did  he  glance  toward  the  cringing  Vic- 
cars.  The  other  members  of  the  tribe  awaited 
the  outcome  in  a  mixture  of  emotions — be- 
wilderment and  pleasure  being  the  most  con- 
spicuous. All  of  them  were  deeply  impressed 
by  the  disgrace  of  Goins,  who,  after  their 
leader,  had  been  the  principal  man.  in  the 
tribe.  A  few  particular  friends  of  the  lieu- 
tenant were  genuinely  distressed  over  his 
downfall,  but  for  the  most  part  his  fellow 
tribesmen  were  gratified  by  the  calamity 
fallen  on  one  who  had  harshly  lorded  over 
them.  Lowrie  explained  as  much  of  the  mat- 
ter as  he  chose  with  blunt  directness. 


230        THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL 


a 


I  made  this-hyar  skunk,  Cliarlie  Goins, 
my  lieutenant,  'cause  I  trusted  'im.  Now, 
I've  l'arned  'e  hain't  fitten  V  be  trusted. 
'E's  sneakin'  an'  treacherous  an'  plumb 
ornery.  Las'  night  'e  an'  'is  man,  Jeames 
hyar,  jumped  on  the  young  feller  what's  been 
visitin'  me.  Jist  what  'e  meant  t'  do  with 
'im,  I  dunno,  an'  I  don't  keer.  Hit's  enough 
thet  'e  meant  mischief  t'  my  guest.  'E'll  be 
punished  fer  thet.  They's  other  thin's,  but 
I  hain't  aimin'  t'  say  nothin'  'bout  them." 
He  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  his  features 
working  convulsively.  But  he  controlled 
himself,  and,  as  he  spoke  again,  the  booming 
notes  came  without  a  tremor.  "I  hereby 
sentence  Charlie  Goins  and  Jeames  Viccars 
to  be  flogged — fifty  lashes  each."  He  turned 
to  a  man  standing  near.  "  Bring  three  mule- 
whips,"  he  ordered. 

Not  a  sound  broke  the  quiet  during  the 
short  interval  until  the  whips  were  brought. 
Then,  Lowrie  took  the  whips,  which  were  of 
the  usual  sort,  with  short  stocks,  tipped  with 
two  yards  of  braided  rawhide.  He  stepped 
forward,  and  held  out  one  of  the  whips  to 
Goins,  who  took  it  mechanically,  as  if  doubt- 
ful of  the  chief's  purpose.    A  second  whip 


THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL        231 

was  taken  reluctantly  by  Viccars.  The  chief 
himself  retained  the  third  whip.  He  re- 
turned to  his  former  position,  facing  the  men 
from  a  little  distance. 

"Now,  stan'  two  paces  apart/'  he  con- 
tinned. 

The  cowed  men  placed  themselves  obec 
ently.  Their  faces  displayed  a  growing  appre- 
hension. The  encircling  crowd  of  Croatans 
grinned  appreciatively  as  they  guessed  their 
leader's  design.  Lowrie  spoke  contempt- 
uously. 

"I  don't  want  none  o'  the  tribe  t'  dirty 
their  han's  on  sich  scum  as  you-all.  So,  I 
cal'late  t'  'ave  ye  whip  each  other.  An'  ye '11 
make  a  good  job  of  hit,  er  I'll  know  the  rea- 
son why." 

Goins '  spirit  flared  in  a  momentary  revolt. 
He  looked  up  for  the  first  time,  and  his 
beady  eyes  were  like  those  of  a  cornered 
rat. 

"I  won't  do  hit!"  he  gritted  between 
clenched  teeth;  and,  with  a  curse,  he  hurled 
the  whip  to  the  ground. 

Lowrie 's  gaze  met  his  lieutenant's  squarely. 
Something  in  their  depths  warned  the  muti- 
neer, and  turned  him  coward  again. 


232        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

"  Ye '11  whip  each  other,  and  lay  hit  on  good, 
er  I'll  flog  the  two  on  ye  myself.  An*  if  I 
do,"  he  added,  and  his  voice  roughened 
savagely,  as  he  swung  the  whip  aloft,  "by 
God,  I'll  lay  on  with  all  my  strength.' ' 

There  was  a  short  period  of  hesitation, 
during  which  the  two  condemned  men  eyed 
each  other  askance.  It  was  Goins  who  made 
the  first  decisive  movement,  for  he  stooped 
and  picked  up  his  whip.  He  had  been  thor- 
oughly intimidated  by  what  he  had  read  in 
the  chief's  eyes.  He  knew  that  his  outrage 
against  the  daughter  had  come  to  the  ears 
of  the  father,  and  that  only  by  strength  of 
will  was  Lowrie  holding  his  wrath  in  check. 
Goins  felt  those  vengeful  eyes  still  flaming 
on  him,  though  he  held  his  face  averted. 
Under  their  influence,  he  was  compelled  to 
obey  the  decree  uttered  by  the  chief.  He 
raised  his  arm,  and  struck.  There  was  no 
wilful  energy  in  the  action,  but  Goins  was  a 
man  of  exceptional  strength,  and,  without  de- 
liberate intention  on  his  part,  the  lash  hissed 
sharply  through  the  air,  and  fell  heavily 
across  Viccars'  back.  A  stain  of  red  showed 
through  the  thin  cotton  shirt.  The  fellow 
leaped  high  with  a  shrill  cry  of  pain.    The 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        233 

whip  fell  from  his  hand;  he  volleyed  curses 
against  his  assailant. 

"Pick  hit  up.  Hit's  yer  turn  t'  strike," 
Lowrie  growled. 

Of  a  sudden,  Viccars'  wrath  perceived  its 
opportunity.  He  snatched  up  the  whip,  and 
swung  it  viciously,  with  all  his  might.  The 
rawhide  twined  about  Goins '  body,  and 
brought  the  blood.  The  stinging  hurt  of  it 
made  the  lieutenant  forget  for  the  time  be- 
ing everything  except  the  immediate  cause. 
His  eyes  glared  murderously  at  his  crony. 
He  struck  his  second  blow  with  a  will.  The 
lash  bit  deep  into  Viccars'  flesh,  and  evoked 
a  howl  of  anguish. 

Angry  before,  the  wretched  victim  was  now 
half -crazed.  He  screamed  curses,  plying  his 
whip  the  while  with  all  the  speed  and  force 
of  which  he  was  capable.  Nor  was  Goins  less 
violent  and  enraged.  He,  too,  rained  blows 
with  frantic  cruelty.  By  reason  of  Goins' 
superior  muscles,  Viccars  suffered  the  more 
punishment.  He  was  a  gory  spectacle  for 
pity  when,  at  last,  the  whip  dropped  from 
his  nerveless  hand,  and  he  crumpled  down 
on  the  ground,  writhing  and  moaning  in  the 
torture  of  his  wounds.     Goins,  indeed,  was 


234        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

not  in  much  better  case.  The  tattered  rags 
of  his  shirt  were  soaked  crimson  with  blood, 
and  he  must  have  been  suffering  torment 
from  the  laceration  of  his  flesh.  But  he  re- 
tained strength  enough  of  will  and  of  body 
to  stand  rigidly  erect,  still  holding  his  whip, 
and  scowling  blackly. 

The  circle  of  watchers,  which  had  been  held 
silent  and  motionless  in  the  grip  of  excite- 
ment, now  stirred,  and  a  babel  of  voices  burst 
forth.  But  there  was  an  instant  hush  when 
the  heavy  voice  of  the  chief  again  sounded. 

"Take  'em  away,"  he  commanded.  "Hev 
the  old  women  dress  their  wounds.  Then 
put  'em  on  the  worst  two  hosses  we  got,  an' 
ride  'em  ten  mile  down  the  river,  an'  turn 
'em  loose."  He  stared  balefully  at  Goins, 
who  refused  to  meet  his  eyes.  ' '  The  both  o ' 
ye  are  done  with  the  tribe,  fer  always,"  he 
said,  with  the  measured  slowness  of  an 
authority  that  must  be  obeyed.  "Ye'r'  t'  go, 
an'  ye'r'  never  t'  come  back — never!" 

He  turned,  and  strode  into  the  cabin,  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him,  while  the  guards 
closed  in  on  the  two  thus  formally  banished 
from  their  place  and  tribe. 

David  went  quickly  away  from  the  spot. 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL        235 

He  experienced  a  slight  nausea  from  the 
hideous  scene  he  had  just  witnessed.  He 
realized,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  homesickness, 
that  these  people  were  not  his  people,  nor 
their  ways  his  ways.  He  thought  of  Ruth 
and  the  peaceful  beauty  of  the  orchard  where 
he  had  kissed  her.  A  great  wave  of  longing 
swept  over  him.  A  vast  loneliness  settled 
upon  him  like  a  pall.  He  felt  himself  an 
alien,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  and  very 
wretched. 


CHAPTEE  XXI 

WHILE  David  was  strolling  about  the 
encampment  in  mid-afternoon,  ab- 
sorbed in  moody  meditation  on  the  wretched- 
ness of  his  situation,  a  messenger  came  sum- 
moning him  to  an  interview  with  the  chief. 
The  mountaineer  found  Lowrie  alone  in  the 
living-room  of  the  cabin.  He  was  greeted 
with  a  curt  nod  and  a  sweeping  gesture  of 
one  huge  hand  toward  a  chair.  No  time  was 
wasted  in  unnecessary  preliminaries.  The 
Croatan  introduced  the  subject  matter  of  the 
meeting  with  his  first  words. 

"Ye  said  ye  hed  somethin'  t'  tell  me,  young 
feller,  'bout  'cause  why  ye  wanted  V  light 
out  o'  hyar  so  dura'  sudden  like.  "Wall,  suh, 
now's  yer  chance.  Spit  hit  out."  The  keen 
eyes  were  fastened  on  the  younger  man  in  a 
look  that  was  neither  kindly  nor  hostile, 
rather  it  wTas  coldly  judicial. 

The  inquisitorial  stare  disturbed  David. 
There  was  no  faintest  trace  of  sympathy  in 

236 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        237 

it;  only  an  imperious  demand  for  the  truth, 
without  reservation  or  extenuation.  And  the 
truth  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  tell — to  the 
father  of  the  girl  concerned.  The  guest  felt 
a  strong  presentiment  that  he  would  fail  in 
making  a  favorable  statement  of  his  case. 
Nevertheless,  he  called  on  the  remnants 
of  his  courage,  and  began  a  rapid,  some- 
what incoherent  narration  of  the  essential 
facts. 

"It's  about  yer  daughter,  'Liz'beth,  her  as 
hauled  me  out  o'  the  river,"  he  began  awk- 
wardly. ' i  She 's  a  mighty  fine  gal,  an '  I  think 
a  heap  o'  her.  'Tain't  jest  that  I'm  grate- 
ful t'  her  fer  savin'  my  life.  There's  all  that 
— an'  more.  It  was  'cause  o'  that — 'cause 
I  was  afraid  I  might  be  gittin'  t'  care  fer 
her  too  much  that  I  made  up  my  mind  t' 
light  out.  Yes,  that's  the  reason  I  sneaked 
off  in  the  night."  He  halted,  miserable  and 
ashamed. 

Lowrie  seized  unerringly  on  the  single 
word  that  contained  a  clue. 

"  'Fraid?"  he  repeated,  with  a  frown. 
"Fer  why  was  ye  afeared?" 

David  met  the  issue  squarely. 

"I  was  af eared   'cause  I  was  bound  al- 


238        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

ready.' '  His  voice  lowered,  and  there  was  a 
reverent  softness  in  it  as  he  continued. 
"There's  another  gal  back  home.  We're 
promised  t'  each  other." 

A  period  of  silence  followed,  in  which  each 
of  the  two  men  was  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts.  David  supposed  that,  of  course, 
his  explanation  cleared  up  the  affair.  Not- 
withstanding his  embarrassment,  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  distinct  sense  of  relief.  His  mus- 
ings for  the  moment  were  wholly  of  Ruth, 
and  they  were  very  tender.  Then,  he  again 
remembered  Elizabeth,  and  once  more  his 
mind  was  in  turmoil.  He  regarded  his  pas- 
sionate dream  of  her  as  dead  and  done ;  but 
there  remained  the  difficult,  the  painful  task 
of  making  plain  the  fact  to  her.  That  would 
be  a  trial  far  different  from  this  talk  with 
the  father.  He  knew,  without  vanity,  that 
he  had  all  unwittingly  engaged  her  affection. 
The  telling  of  the  truth  to  her  would  be  a 
heart-wrenching  thing.  He  felt  guilty  as 
never  before,  blaming  himself  bitterly  as  the 
cause  of  what  this  innocent  girl  must  suffer. 
The  fault,  he  acknowledged,  was  altogether 
his.  He  alone  had  been  the  active  agent 
whose  unforgivable  folly  brought  about  an 


THE  HOMEWAED  TEAIL        239 

intolerable  situation.  His  careless  yielding 
to  a  sensuous  mood  had  encouraged  the  girl 
to  bestow  on  him  the  priceless  treasure  of 
her  love.  True,  he  had  not  made  direct 
declarations  in  words.  There  had  been  no 
need.  He  was  well  aware  that  every  glance 
of  his  eyes  there  in  the  cavern  had  told  her 
the  thing  she  longed  for.  Afterward,  he  had 
tried  to  play  his  part  with  more  discretion. 
His  suffering  in  the  effort — and  the  suffering 
he  had  inflicted  on  her — had  been  sufficient 
to  deserve  some  good  result,  as  it  seemed  to 
him.  Yet,  in  the  end,  the  effect  of  his  strug- 
gle had  been  only  that,  at  sight  of  her  to- 
day, he  took  her  into  his  arms,  and  laid  his 
lips  to  her  hair.  At  memory  of  those  deli- 
cious moments,  David's  mood  changed  once 
again.  His  pulses  quickened,  and  his  heart 
warmed  with  desire  for  this  woman,  so  beau- 
tiful, so  admirable  in  every  way,  so  strong, 
so  sweet,  so  gentle,  so  winsome,  who  loved 
him.  Again,  he  felt  the  rapture  of  that  em- 
brace; again,  the  soft  fragrance  of  her  hair 
was  like  incense  in  his  nostrils.  He  quite  for- 
got Euth — until  the  voice  of  Lowrie  rudely 
jarred  him  back  to  consciousness  of  the 
present. 


240        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

The  chief  spoke  gruffly,  but  still  with  his 
judicial  manner.  He  spoke,  too,  with  de- 
cisive emphasis,  as  one  laying  down  the  law, 
as  one  whose  authority  was  not  to  be  denied 
by  any  other  person;  least  of  all  by  the  cal- 
low youth  there  before  him,  who  listened  at 
first  in  startled  astonishment,  then  dum- 
founded,  as  the  argument  penetrated  his 
brain,  and  filled  his  heart  with  a  medley  of 
emotions. 

"Thet-thar  gal  back  in  yer  mountings  is 
out  o'  hit  now,"  Lowrie  announced  suc- 
cinctly. "She  don't  count  no  more — no  more 
a  tall."  He  paused  for  a  few  seconds  to  let 
his  words  have  their  full  effect  on  the  hearer, 
who  stared  uncomprehendingly. 

"But — "  David  would  have  protested. 

Lowrie  interrupted  with  a  strident  ejacula- 
tion of  impatience. 

"Listen  hyar !"  he  ordered;  and  the  moun- 
taineer perforce  obeyed.  "Don't  ye  see?" 
he  demanded,  with  evident  contempt  for  the 
other's  obtuseness.  "Don't  ye  understan' 
the  plain  facts?  When  you-all  sot  out  fr'm 
hum,  ye  belonged  t'  thet-thar  gal  o'  your'n. 
I  don't  aim  t'  deny  thet  none  whatsoever." 
The   chief  paused  anew,   as   if   to   let  his 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        241 

phrases  sink  in.  Then,  presently,  he  re- 
sumed speaking  with  ponderous  gravity. 

"  Since,  they's  been  things  happenin'. 
You-all  got  kotched  in  the  river,  an'  yer  head 
busted  agin  a  stun.  Ye  come  right-smart 
cluss  t'  dyin'  right  then  an*  thar.  Ye  know 
thet?" 

David  nodded  a  wondering  assent  to  the 
question. 

"Wall,  keep  thet  in  yer  mind,"  Lowrie 
charged.  * '  Furthermore,  they 's  another  p  'int 
t'  be  considered.  Hit  was  my  darter  what 
pulled  ye  out  o'  thet-thar  river.  So  be,  she 
hedn't  seen  ye  an'  grabbed  ye,  ye'd  'a*  been 
a  goner,  sure  pop!    So,  hain't  hit?" 

David  nodded  for  the  second  time,  while 
Lowrie's  expression  softened  to  complacency. 
He  appeared  gratified  by  the  shrewdness  of 
his  own  reasoning,  which  he  was  now  about 
to  display  to  his  less  astute  auditor. 

"My  darter  saved  ye  fr'm  bein'  drownded 
over  thar  in  the  river.  Thet-thar  other  gal 
o'  your'n  didn't  save  ye  none ;  she  didn't  even 
he'p  none.  So,  ye  see,  thet-thar  gal  o'  your'n 
losted  ye  thar  in  the  river.  Fur's  she's  con- 
sarned,  ye  V  drownded.  Understand  Ye'r' 
dead  t'  thet-thar  gal,  an'  thar  kain't  be  no 


242        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

resurrection  fer  ye — not  so  fur's  gittin' 
spliced  goes  nohow."  The  chief  wagged  his 
massive  head  impressively,  and  ran  his 
fingers  through  the  thick  thatch  of  waving 
gray  hair,  while  David  regarded  him  in  mute 
amazement.  "Ye  belong  t'  somebody  else 
now.  Hit's  fer  'er  t'  'ave  the  say-so  'bout 
yer  life,  I  cal'late.  She  saved  ye  out  o'  the 
river,  an'  so  ye'r'  'er'n.  If  so  be  she  wants 
ye  fer  'er  husban',  why,  thet's  hit.  Then 
ye '11  marry  'er.  Ye  see  how  'tis,  don't  ye?" 
The  fierce  challenging  stare  with  which  he 
regarded  his  guest  was  disconcerting. 

David  strove  to  clear  his  muddled  wits. 
He  was  aghast  over  the  extraordinary  theory 
so  strenuously  advanced  by  Lowrie.  The 
idea  was  essentially  preposterous,  but  he 
realized  with  dismay  that  it  was  enunciated 
in  all  seriousness  by  his  host.  Already  that 
very  day,  he  had  seen  the  man  display  his 
autocratic  temper,  and  he  had  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  this  chief  of  a  tribe  would  be 
less  stern  in  dealing  with  a  stranger  than 
with  any  other  who  ran  counter  to  his  wishes. 
He  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  some  means 
of  overthrowing  the  elder  man's  argument, 
but  in  the  very  simplicity  of  that  argument 


THE  HOMEWAED  TKAIL        243 

lay  its  strength.  David  guessed  that  the 
finer  points  of  personal  honor  involved  in 
this  matter  of  abandoning  one  girl  for  an- 
other would  be  deemed  of  no  importance  by 
Lowrie.  The  Croatan  had  made  plain  the 
fact  that  he  would  not  refuse  this  stranger  as 
a  suitor  for  his  daughter's  hand.  On  the 
contrary,  he  showed  a  disposition  to  welcome 
the  young  man  as  his  son-in-law.  His  lack 
of  scruples  made  it  extremely  doubtful  if 
he  could  be  convinced  that  the  man  he 
favored  owed  a  duty  to  any  girl  other  than 
his  own  daughter.  David  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt to  find  a  worth-while  argument  against 
that  advanced  by  the  chief.  His  honesty 
compelled  him  to  make  a  blunt  avowal  of  his 
sentiments  in  the  affair.  He  knew  that  he 
could  not  make  them  appeal  to  his  hearer, 
nor  did  he  try.  Very  reluctantly,  for  he  di- 
vined the  hostility  he  would  provoke  by  his 
declaration,  he  stated  his  attitude. 

"Why,  chief,  I  couldn't  go  back  on  my 
word.  I'm  pledged  t'  Euth.  Whatever  ye 
say  'bout  my  gittin'  drownded  in  the  river, 
an'  bein'  saved  from  it  by  yer  daughter,  I 
can't  he'p  knowin'  I'm  still  bound  t'  Euth. 
She's  the  gal  I'm  goin'  t'  marry."    He  al- 


244        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

most  added  that  she  was  the  only  girl  in  the 
world  whom  he  wished  to  marry,  for  just  now 
his  exasperation  against  Lowrie  extended  in 
some  degree  to  the  daughter.  But  discretion 
checked  the  phrase  on  his  lips.  He  felt  that 
it  would  be  unwise  to  aggravate  the  man  un- 
necessarily. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  sense  of  the  words  did 
not  penetrate  Lowrie 's  understanding  for  a 
few  seconds.  At  least,  there  was  no  change 
in  his  expression  at  first.  When  the  change 
did  come,  it  was  swift  and  menacing.  The 
brow  and  the  bits  of  cheek  above  the  high- 
growing  beard  showed  purple,  and  the  veins 
stood  out  in  blue-black  ridges,  swollen  with 
blood.  His  big  body  grew  visibly  bigger, 
expanding  with  the  rage  that  welled  up  in 
him.  David  could  hear  the  grinding  of  the 
teeth  as  the  jaws  clamped  shut,  and  then 
moved  under  the  impulse  of  his  wrath.  But 
the  black  eyes  most  proclaimed  the  fury  that 
possessed  the  man.  They  were  flaming,  dart- 
ing the  lightnings  of  hate  as  if  to  slay  this 
presumptuous  youth,  who  thus  dared  to  flaunt 
his  daughter.  The  great  hands,  resting  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  clenched  with  such 
force  that  the  red  and  roughened  skin  over 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        245 

the  knuckles  showed  smooth  and  bloodless 
white  from  the  tension. 

David  experienced  a  moment  of  physical 
fear.  He  expected  that  in  the  next  second 
the  chief  would  leap  upon  him  to  crush  out 
his  life  in  blood-lust  aroused  by  the  insult  to 
the  beloved  daughter.  He  maintained  his 
position  without  outward  flinching,  but  the 
blasting  look  in  those  eyes  seemed  to  shrivel 
the  soul  within  him.  For  a  few  horrible  in- 
stants, he  was  fairly  sick  with  fear.  He  had 
felt  the  grip  of  those  arms  once,  when  they 
had  held  him  in  a  clutch  that  was  kindly, 
yet  of  remorseless  strength.  Now,  the  might 
of  them  would  destroy  him,  for  he  had  no 
force  with  which  to  oppose  their  vast  power. 
He  had  heard  talk  of  things  the  chief  had 
done  when  in  a  red  rage.  He  had  paid  little 
heed  to  the  tales  at  the  time,  but  now  they 
came  surging  into  memory,  and  served  to 
weaken  his  spirit  still  further.  David  sat 
without  a  change  of  feature,  motionless  and 
stolid  to  all  appearance.  But  his  heart  failed 
him.    He  expected  no  less  than  death. 

For  that  matter,  David  was  as  close  to 
death  that  day  in  the  cabin  as  a  man  may  be 
and  live.     For  a  little,  Lowrie  was  indeed 


246        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

mad  with  passionate  resentment,  by  reason 
of  the  dishonor,  as  he  deemed  it,  put  on  his 
daughter  by  the  young  man  who  owed  his 
life  to  her.  He  had  been  wholly  sincere  in 
his  warped  view  of  the  case.  He  believed 
that  this  youth's  future  was  at  the  absolute 
disposal  of  Elizabeth.  Since  the  girl  had 
chosen  him  as  her  mate,  her  mate  he  must 
be.  This  resistance  on  his  part  was  a 
monstrous  thing,  unbelievable,  unendurable. 
Lowrie  regarded  David's  refusal  to  acquiesce 
as  nothing  short  of  a  crime.  That  crime 
merited  death.  The  young  man  had  spurned 
Elizabeth,  had  declared  that  he  would  not 
marry  her,  that  he  would  marry  another  girl. 
The  offense  was  supreme;  it  deserved  the 
supreme  punishment. 

Yet,  the  cause  of  David's  great  peril  was 
also  the  cause  of  his  escape  from  it — Eliza- 
beth. In  his  wrath  over  the  outrage  against 
his  daughter,  Lowrie  was  ready  to  do  murder. 
But,  before  he  could  yield  to  the  impulse  to 
slay  for  her  sake,  there  came  a  check  on 
that  impulse — the  thought  that  perhaps  he 
ought  rather  to  spare,  still  for  her  sake. 
There  flashed  on  him  a  memory  of  the  time 
when  he  and  she  had  talked  together,  and 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        247 

she  had  told  him  so  tremulously,  yet  so 
bravely,  that  she  loved  this  man  who  had 
come  to  her  from  up  beyond.  And  if  she 
loved  him,  the  killing  of  him  would  hurt  her. 
Lowrie,  with  all  his  savagery,  was  not  minded 
to  harm  his  daughter.  She  was  the  one 
creature  in  the  world  whom  he  loved,  whom 
he  would  save  from  all  pain,  to  whom  he 
would  bring  all  happiness  within  his  power. 
"While  he  thought  of  these  things,  the  first 
wildness  of  his  anger  passed.  The  crimson 
haze  that  had  risen  from  his  heart  to  fog  his 
brain,  lifted,  and  he  was  able  to  think  clearly 
again.  It  occurred  to  him  that,  after  all,  it 
could  not  prove  to  be  a  very  difficult  thing 
to  bend  this  stranger  to  his  will.  The  young- 
ster's  foolish  ideas  of  duty  could  be  per- 
verted easily  enough.  Surely,  it  could  only 
be  a  question  of  time.  And  there  was  Eliza- 
beth herself,  whom,  assuredly,  no  man  could 
resist.  The  purple  hue  died  out  of  his 
face,  leaving  the  usual  ruddy  brown.  His 
mind  considered  the  problem  briefly,  and 
reached  a  decision.  The  hands  on  the  chair- 
arms  unclenched.  The  fires  still  glowed 
in  his  eyes;  but  the  flames  were  no  longer 
deadly. 


248        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

David,  watching  furtively,  saw  that  the 
crisis  was  past,  and  he  rejoiced  with  all  the 
lusty  strength  of  his  young  manhood  that  the 
life  was  still  in  him.  He  stirred  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  spoken.  He  gave  no  other 
outward  sign  of  the  emotion  that  had  shaken 
his  soul. 

But  the  first  feeling  of  inexpressible  relief 
for  his  escape  was  speedily  modified,  and 
David  was  beset  with  new  cause  for  tribula- 
tion. The  chief's  voice  sounded  again,  and 
the  listener  realized  that  the  issue  between 
them  was  by  no  means  determined,  only  post- 
poned. 

"I'll  give  ye  time  t'  change  yer  mind," 
was  the  harshly  uttered  decree.  "P'r'aps, 
sometime,  I  kin  forgive  ye  fer  what  ye've 
said,  so  bein'  as  how  ye'r'  young  an'  fool- 
ish. I'll  give  ye  a  chance  t'  see  the  light. 
I'm  sparin'  ye  'cause  I  love  my  darter,  an' 
hit  might  make  'er  sorry  if  I  was  t'  kill  ye 
hyar  an'  now.  I  cal'late  a  week  orter  be 
enough  time  fer  ye  t'  git  rid  o'  yer  fool  no- 
tions 'bout  thet-thar  other  gal.  So,  I'll  give 
ye  a  week  t'  decide." 

"I  can't  change,"  David  declared.  He 
spoke  almost  humbly,  but  with  a  certain  in- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        249 

flection  of  dogged  resolution.  "I've  got  t' 
do  what  I  think  is  right. ' ' 

Lowrie  did  not  flare  in  a  new  rage  as  David 
had  dreaded.  The  chief  had  himself  well  in 
hand  now,  and  he  answered  in  almost  his 
usual  manner. 

"Ye'r'  t'  'ave  a  week.  When  thet's  up, 
if  ye  hain't  seen  the  light,  hit '11  be  the  wuss 
f er  ye. ' '  He  chuckled  roughly.  ' '  But  I  'low 
thet  ye '11  git  yer  eyes  open  afore  the  time's 
up.  An'  now,  ye  kin  hev  yer  ch'ice.  I'll 
hev  ye  trun  inter  the  guard-house,  an'  kept 
thar  safe  an'  sound  while  ye'r'  doing  yer 
thinkin',  er  ye  kin  stay  right  on  hyar  in  the 
cabin  just  as  ye've  been  a-doin',  if  ye '11  give 
me  yer  word  not  t'  run  away.  I'll  take  yer 
word  fer  hit,  boy,  'cause  I  think  ye'r'  honest, 
even  if  ye  'ave  got  some  damn '-fool  notions. 
What  say?" 

David  had  no  hesitation  in  passing  his  word 
that  he  would  not  attempt  to  escape  within 
the  time  limit  of  seven  days.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  welcomed  this  reprieve  as  offering 
a  hope  of  ultimate  escape  from  his  predica- 
ment. He  was  sure  that  he  could  depend  on 
one  strong  agency  in  his  favor — Elizabeth. 
His  knowledge  of  the  girl  was  such  that  he 


250        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

had  a  fine  respect  for  her  high  ideals  of  con- 
duct. He  was  convinced  that  her  estimate 
of  his  duty  would  agree  with  his  own,  no 
matter  what  the  cost  to  her  personal  desires. 
He  felt  that  he  could  depend  on  the  exertion 
of  her  influence  in  his  behalf  as  against  the 
despotic  will  of  her  father.  He  was  only 
anxious  now  to  hasten  that  revelation  to  her 
which  hitherto  he  had  so  weakly  postponed. 
He  was  glad  when  Lowrie,  without  another 
word,  abruptly  got  up  from  his  chair,  and 
left  the  cabin.  David  resolved  to  seek  Eliza- 
beth at  once,  to  tell  her  all,  to  throw  himself 
on  her  mercy. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WILLIAM  SWAIM'S  conscience  was  ill 
at  ease  after  the  departure  of  David. 
Neither  his  wife  nor  his  daughter  accused 
him  openly  for  his  part  in  the  affair,  but 
the  expression  of  their  faces  was  a  constant 
reproach,  as  was  their  manifest  avoidance  of 
any  reference  to  the  absent  young  man.  He 
was  especially  distressed  by  the  manner  of 
Ruth  toward  him.  There  was  a  certain  aloof- 
ness in  her  air  that  was  new  in  her  treat- 
ment of  him.  It  was  as  if  she  meant  de- 
liberately to  shut  him  out  of  her  confidence. 
And  Swaim  loved  his  daughter  deeply.  She 
was  the  most  precious  thing  in  his  life.  Now, 
he  knew  that  he  had  wounded  her  sorely. 
He  feared  lest  his  violence  and  injustice  to- 
ward David  had  alienated  the  girl's  affection. 
The  thought  was  very  bitter.  It  was  made 
the  more  painful  from  the  fact  that  his  con- 
science put  all  the  blame  on  himself.  To 
add  to  his  trouble,  he  experienced  a  sense 

251 


252        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

of  personal  loss  from  the  departure  of  David. 
In  his  own  peculiar  fashion,  he  had  liked  the 
lad.  He  had  come  to  regard  him  as  his  future 
son-in-law,  his  successor  in  the  cultivation  of 
the  farm  in  which  he  took  great  pride.  His 
own  hasty  yielding  to  an  angry  impulse 
threatened  to  destroy  the  whole  fabric  of  his 
plans  for  the  future.  Finally,  Swaim  was 
distressed  over  the  probable  consequences  of 
his  act  in  connection  with  Simmons,  David's 
father.  The  man  was  his  one  close  friend. 
Swaim  grieved  to  think  that  this  friend  might 
be  changed  into  an  enemy  when  he  returned 
to  learn  how  his  son  fared  at  his  neighbor's 
hands. 

It  is  not  the  custom  of  the  dwellers  in  this 
region  to  make  apology  even  for  known 
faults,  or  to  express  regret,  no  matter  how 
sincere  their  penitence  over  some  wrong  deed. 
Swaim,  for  the  life  of  him,  could  not  have 
voiced  his  remorse  over  the  treatment  of 
David.  He  longed  to  restore  himself  to  the 
good  graces  of  wife  and  child,  more  espe- 
cially to  reestablish  himself  in  the  favor  of 
his  daughter.  But  he  was  unable  to  speak 
of  the  thing  that  lay  so  heavy  on  his  heart. 
He  could  not  put  his  feeling  in  words.    He 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        253 

could  only  go  about  in  a  mute  misery  of  ap- 
pearance that  was  half-pitiful,  half-absurd. 
By  every  means  in  his  power,  except  open 
confession  in  speech,  he  made  plain  the  fact 
that  he  had  done  wrong  and  that  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly sorry  for  it.    He  went  out  of  his 
way  to  make  innumerable   suggestions  for 
the  comfort  and  pleasure  of  his  women  folk. 
He  even  carried  this  so  far  as  to  open  his 
purse-strings  of  his  own  accord,  for  the  first 
time  in  the  history  of  the  family.    He  dis^ 
played  indeed  what  was  to  him — and  to  them, 
for  that  matter — a  truly  lavish  generosity. 
The   women,   for   their   part,   understood 
very  well  the  workings  of  Swaim's  mind  and 
heart.     Both  were  aware  of  his  project  as 
to    a   marriage   between   Ruth   and   David, 
though  the  subject  had  never  been  discussed 
except  in  strictest  confidence  by  himself  and 
the  elder  Simmons.    The  wife  and  daughter 
knew  also  how  Swaim  was  now  suffering  from 
the   pangs   of   conscience.     Whatever   sym- 
pathy they  may  have  had  for  the  transgres- 
sor was  promptly  stifled,  or  at  least  they  did 
not  let  it  show  to  him  in  any  way.    It  seemed 
to  them  that  this  discipline  was  good  for  the 
man  who  had  hitherto  been  so  niggardly. 


254        THE  HOMEWABD  TRAIL 

While  they  mourned  the  disappearance  of 
David,  they  secretly  rejoiced  in  its  effect  on 
the  head  of  the  household,  and  had  no  wish 
to  shorten  his  time  of  tribulation.  So,  Swaim 
went  about  his  daily  tasks  full  of  contrition, 
constantly  made  greater  by  the  demeanor  of 
his  family  toward  him.  He  felt  very  sorrow- 
ful and  very  lonely.  In  this  mood  of  abject- 
ness,  when  seeking  by  all  means  to  make 
amends,  he  even  tried  to  render  himself  more 
agreeable  in  his  daughter's  sight  by  a  com- 
plete change  in  his  treatment  of  the  fawn. 
Where  before  he  had  declaimed  against  the 
wastefulness  of  feeding  the  useless  " critter,' ' 
he  now  went  to  extravagant  lengths  in  the 
other  direction.  He  carried  tit-bits  in  his 
pocket,  which  he  offered  whenever  Mollie 
came  near.  The  effect  was  immediate. 
Where  formerly  the  fawn  had  been  shy  of 
him,  had  usually  fled  at  his  approach  unless 
supported  by  Ruth's  presence,  it  now  wel- 
comed his  advances  greedily,  and  soon  ran 
to  meet  him  whenever  he  appeared.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  daughter,  to  her  aston- 
ishment, and  much  to  her  indignation,  dis- 
covered that  Mollie  would  only  come  to  her 
after   repeated   calls — sometimes   not   then. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        255 

The  fawn  preferred  mincing  daintily  in  the 
wake  of  the  grim  old  man,  in  whose  pockets 
were  wonderful  stores  of  corn  and  sugar  and 
even — oh,  irony  of  fate! — those  limber-twig 
apples,  the  cause  of  David's  downfall. 

It  seemed  good  to  Ruth  and  her  mother, 
now  while  their  wishes  prevailed,  that  the 
girl  should  go  on  a  visit  long  planned,  to  her 
maternal  grandparents  at  Bethania.  This 
would  include  also  a  visit  to  a  school  friend 
at  Salem,  where  she  might  shop  to  advantage 
while  the  father's  generosity  was  still  un- 
checked. 

Ruth  was  especially  glad  to  go  at  this  time, 
since  she  had  a  deep  and  reverent  affection 
for  her  grandparents,  and  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  home  there  was  a  serenity  that  always 
laid  a  spell  on  her  spirit.  Ambrose  King  and 
his  wife  were  Quakers,  and  the  peace  in  their 
souls  radiated  out  in  soothing  effect  on  whom- 
soever came  within  the  sphere  of  its  influence. 
Just  now,  Ruth  craved  that  tranquilizing 
solace  for  herself.  David's  departure,  fol- 
lowing immediately  on  their  mutual  confes- 
sion of  love,  left  her  a  prey  to  a  loneliness 
unlike  any  she  had  ever  known  before,  which 
fairly  bewildered  her.    She  was  by  no  means 


256        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

all  unhappy,  but  she  was  troubled  and  dis- 
turbed by  her  present  lack  of  that  new  thing 
which  had  come  into  her  life  and  for  a  few 
hours  so  filled  it  with  joy.  It  was  with  the 
hope  of  spiritual  comforting  that,  on  a  day 
about  a  fortnight  after  David's  going,  she 
mounted  her  horse  at  early  morning,  and 
rode  east  over  the  score  of  miles  that  lay  be- 
tween the  farm  and  the  tiny  Moravian  village 
of  Bethania.  And  by  a  curious  twist  of  fate, 
she  rode  to  find  not  the  peace  she  longed  for, 
but  pain  and  grief  beyond  any  she  had  ever 
known,  beyond  any  she  would  ever  know 
again. 

The  aged  pair  greeted  her  warmly,  and  at 
the  very  outset  the  calm  of  the  home  settled 
upon  Ruth's  spirit,  and  she  was  at  peace,  as 
she  had  hoped  to  be.  This  endured  for  a 
few  hours.  Then  came  the  change — blasting 
as  a  lightning  bolt. 

.Ambrose  King  and  his  wife  carried  the 
principles  of  their  religion  into  every  action 
of  their  lives.  Because  they  believed  in  peace 
absolutely,  they  could  not  believe  in  war  at 
all.  They  admitted  no  justification  for  it, 
they  had  no  sympathy  for  it  in  any  of  its 
aspects.    In  the  vital  struggle  between  North 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        257 

and  South,  they  held  to  an  impartiality  that 
was  complete  because  it  was  based  on  the 
denial  of  any  righteousness  at  all  in  warfare. 
It  was  a  natural  outcome  of  their  principles 
that  the  pair  should  give  succor  to  the  war's 
victims,  irrespective  of  local  prejudice.  It 
became  known  to  Union  sympathizers  that 
they  could  be  depended  upon  to  give  food 
and  shelter  to  any  escaping  from  a  Confed- 
erate prison.  So,  it  chanced  that  on  the  night 
following  Ruth's  arrival  at  her  grandparents' 
home,  there  came  stealthily,  as  soon  as  dark- 
ness had  fallen,  one  of  those  fugitives  thus 
making  his  laborious  way  northward  toward 
safety  by  the  underground  railway. 

Ruth  was  sitting  in  the  living-room  of  the 
little  house  with  her  grandparents,  gossip- 
ing over  local  matters,  when  a  soft  knock 
sounded  at  the  door.  The  old  Quaker  opened 
it  at  once,  and  a  man  slipped  furtively  into 
the  room.  Ruth  regarded  him  with  much 
curiosity,  for  she  immediately  suspected 
what  manner  of  visitor  this  might  be.  She 
saw  that  he  was  rather  short,  but  broad-shoul- 
dered, evidently  one  of  considerable  strength, 
though  now  gaunt  and  weakened.  His  form 
seemed  even  more  attenuated  than  it  really 


258        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

was  because  the  clothes  he  wore  were  much 
too  large  for  him.  The  emaciated  face  was 
almost  wholly  concealed  by  a  short,  bristling 
red  beard,  above  which  showed  watery,  blink- 
ing eyes,  with  inflamed  lids.  The  fellow  whis- 
pered a  few  words  to  King,  and  at  a  nod 
from  her  husband,  the  wife  busied  herself 
with  setting  out  a  substantial  meal  on  the 
table.  Forthwith,  the  newcomer  seated  him- 
self and  ate  wolfishly.  But,  when  the  meal 
was  ended,  and  he  had  accepted  a  pipeful  of 
tobacco  from  the  old  Quaker,  Morris — for 
such,  he  informed  them,  was  his  name — re- 
laxed, and  without  any -pressing  proceeded  to 
relate  his  experiences.  Euth  listened  with 
the  eager  interest  of  a  girl  whose  life  con- 
tained few  excitements.  She  was  thrilled  by 
the  fellow's  story  of  his  leap  into  the  river 
when  pursued  by  the  bloodhounds,  and  his 
subsequent  adventures.  She  had  no  inkling 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  " young  feller"  in 
the  boat,  until  Morris  spoke  David's  name. 
At  the  sound  of  it  Euth's  heart  leaped,  and 
she  sat  quivering,  greedy  for  news  of  the 
man  she  loved.  She  did  not  speak.  There 
was  no  need  to  question.  Morris  was  by  na- 
ture garrulous.    He  loved  to  talk  of  himself 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TEAIL        259 

always,  and  in  this  instance,  talk  necessitated 
constant  mention  of  his  companion,  David. 
Luckily  for  Euth's  powers  of  self-control,  he 
spoke  throughout  in  friendly  fashion  of  David. 
It  was  only  when  he  passed  on  to  the  second 
period,  the  one  spent  in  the  hunting  shack 
on  the  cliff  overlooking  the  river,  that  the 
soldier  allowed  rancor  to  show.  It  was  pro- 
voked by  the  enmity  which  he  still  felt  to- 
ward the  princess  for  the  disdain  with  which 
she  had  uniformly  treated  him.  His  feeling 
toward  her  extended  also  in  some  degree  to 
David,  when  he  thought  of  the  two  as  they 
were  together.  So,  he  sneered  in  his  mention 
of  them,  while  Euth  listened,  at  first  alto- 
gether incredulous,  then  affrighted,  half-con- 
vinced. She  would  have  cried  out  now  to 
accuse  this  vile  Yankee  of  lying  about  her 
David,  but  the  rush  of  emotion  held  her  dumb, 
powerless  to  question  or  deny. 

"That  Injun  girl  was  a  fine-looker,  if  there 
wa'n't  anything  else  good  about  her,"  Mor- 
ris declared.  "This  David  chap  got  stuck  on 
her  right  smack  off,  an'  she  got  stuck  on  him 
first  off  she  set  eyes  on  him.  They  had  a 
Jim-dandy  time  there  in  that  cussed  cave  to- 
gether.   I  kept  out  most  of  the  time.    That 


260        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

suited  me,  an'  it  suited  them,  too — you  bet!" 
He  tittered  suggestively.  "They  made  me 
sick  with  their  lallygaggin'.  Her  pa  peeked 
in  an'  saw  'em  there  spoonin'.  I  thought  he 'd 
have  shot  the  cuss,  but  I  guess  he  thought 
it  would  be  better  all  round  to  have  a  white 
man  for  a  son-in-law.  Anyhow,  he  didn't 
make  a  row,  an'  the  next  day  the  girl  took 
David  home  with  her,  bold  as  brass,  an'  the 
old  Injun  chief  took  him  right  into  his  own 
cabin.  He  started  me  off  the  same  day,  an' 
I  don't  know  nothin'  about  what's  happened 
since.  But  I  miss  my  guess  if  David  ain't 
married  to  that  squaw  by  this  time.  Least- 
ways, if  he  ain't,  he  ought  to  be."  Morris 
snickered  over  his  vicious  innuendo.  "One 
thing  certain,  if  that  old  sockdolager  of  a 
chief  wants  that  young  feller  for  a  son-in- 
law,  David  ain't  got  a  chance  in  the  world 
of  gettin'  away  without  marryin'  the  girl." 
There  came  a  slight  swishing,  rustling 
noise,  a  soft  thudding  sound.  Startled,  the 
soldier  and  the  two  old  persons  looked 
around.  They  saw  Ruth  lying  huddled  on 
the  floor,  where  she  had  slipped  so  quietly 
from  her  chair  in  a  dead  faint. 


THE  HOMEWAKD  TRAIL        261 

Ruth,  when  she  returned  to  consciousness 
a  half-hour  later,  found  herself  undressed 
and  in  bed,  with  her  grandmother  hovering 
about  her  in  tender  solicitude.  She  made 
light  of  her  attack,  and  was  soon  left  to  sleep. 
But  there  was  no  sleep  for  her  that  night. 
Throughout  the  hours  of  darkness,  she  was 
tortured  by  the  visions  of  imagination  con- 
jured by  the  evil  words  of  the  Northerner. 
For  the  first  time,  she  knew  the  anguish  of 
jealousy.  She  tried  to  hold  fast  to  her  faith 
in  David,  but  loyalty  was  sorely  taxed,  and 
the  effort  left  her  weak  with  despair.  She 
pictured  this  savage  princess  as  a  vampire, 
beautiful  perhaps,  with  wanton  lures,  cruel, 
conscienceless,  hungry  to  devour  the  one  she 
held  so  dear,  the  one  who  was  more  than  life 
to  her.  Tales  she  had  heard  of  the  Croatans 
came  thronging  into  her  memory  now — tales 
of  rapine  and  plunder,  and  worse.  She  was 
terrified  by  the  thought  that  David  was  ex- 
posed not  only  to  the  allurements  of  an  un- 
scrupulous woman  who  wanted  him,  but  also  to 
actual  perils  from  his  new  environment.  She 
thought  of  him  as  weak  and  helpless  from  his 
hurt  in  the  river,  unable  to  free  himself,  even 
should  he  so  desire,  from  the  wiles  of  the 


262        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

woman  and  the  physical  restraints  imposed 
by  the  Indian  chief.  She  felt  her  love  threat- 
ened with  complete  disaster.  The  prospect 
almost  maddened  her. 

Out  of  the  confusion  of  Ruth's  thoughts, 
a  desperate  plan  was  at  last  evolved.  She 
craved  action  in  this  crisis.  She  could  not 
endure  the  idea  of  remaining  passive  while 
her  lover  was  being  taken  from  her,  either 
willingly  or  by  force.  She  determined  to 
learn  the  truth  for  herself.  It  would  be  better 
to  know  the  facts,  even  at  their  worst,  with- 
out a  moment  of  unnecessary  delay.  The 
suspense  was  not  to  be  borne.  She  con- 
fronted the  possibility  of  finding  David  un- 
faithful to  his  love  for  her.  In  that  case,  it 
would  be  the  end.  Her  heart  would  break. 
But  there  was  another  possibility.  It  might 
be  that  David  was  in  duress.  It  might  be, 
too,  that  somehow,  with  the  resources  of  love 
equal  to  any  task,  she  might  find  a  way  to 
aid  him,  to  release  him,  to  bring  him  back  to 
home  and  her  and  love. 

Ruth  had  no  difficulty  in  carrying  out  her 
rash  project  without  attracting  any  suspicion 
from  those  about  her.  She  merely  rode 
forth  next  day  on  the  road  to  the  south, 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        263 

ostensibly  to  visit  a  school  friend  and  to  do 
her  shopping  in  Salem,  twelve  miles  away. 
As  a  matter-of-fact,  however,  she  halted  in 
Salem  just  long  enough  to  purchase  ample 
supplies  for  a  few  days'  trip  through  the 
wilder  country  to  the  southward.  There- 
after, she  set  forward  resolutely  over  the 
rough  trail  that  led  toward  the  Croatan  en- 
campment. It  was  a  distance  of  full  seventy- 
five  miles,  as  she  had  learned  by  inquiries, 
but  she  faced  it  without  a  tremor  of  fear. 
Her  fear  was  all  for  the  danger  that  waited 
at  the  end  of  the  trail,  and  this  was  a  fear 
not  of  physical  ills,  but  of  peril  to  her  heart's 
happiness,  of  peril  to  the  man  with  whom 
that  heart's  happiness  was  concerned.  From 
the  few  dwellers  along  the  trail,  she  secured 
such  directions  as  she  needed,  evading  as  best 
she  could  the  frank  curiosity  of  those  whom 
she  encountered.  She  camped  by  night 
bravely  enough  within  the  shelter  of  some 
forest  thicket,  where  she  kindled  a  fire,  and 
cooked  her  meal  over  the  blaze,  and  after- 
ward rolled  in  her  blanket,  to  lie  restlessly, 
wide-eyed  through  the  long  hours,  or  to 
dream  of  dreadful  things. 
It  was  on  the  third  day  that  she  came  into 


264        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

the  cross-trail — the  river-trail,  which  ran 
west  from  the  main  road  to  the  Croatan  en- 
campment. She  had  gained  information  con- 
cerning  the  distances  here.  When  she  had 
come,  as  she  judged,  within  a  mile  of  the 
settlement,  she  tethered  her  horse  in  the  con- 
cealment of  a  clump  of  old-field  pines,  and 
went  forward  very  cautiously  on  foot.  When, 
finally,  she  came  in  sight  of  the  cabins,  she 
left  the  trail,  and  made  a  detour  through  the 
woods  to  avoid  observation.  She  advanced 
cautiously,  without  being  detected,  close  to 
the  clearing,  where  she  halted  within  a  cluster 
of  high-growing  gallberry  bushes.  Here  she 
peered  out  to  reconnoiter.  Just  in  front  of 
her  hiding  place,  not  a  rod  away,  a  walled-in 
spring  bubbled  from  the  ground,  and  the 
stream  from  it  ran  purling  daintily  past  her 
where  she  stood  tense  and  watchful. 

Ruth  saw  two  figures  coming  slowly  across 
the  open  space  toward  the  spring.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  in  this  instant  the  heart  within 
her  died.  For  one  of  the  two  was  David, 
and  the  other  was  a  woman — a  woman 
slender  and  tall,  who  walked  with  graceful 
ease,  whose  head  was  poised  haughtily,  whose 
face  was  beautiful. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DAVID,  returning  from  a  short  walk  in 
the  woods,  saw  Elizabeth  enter  the 
cabin,  and  immediately  reappear,  carrying 
the  water  pail.  He  knew  that  she  was  on  her 
way  to  the  spring,  which  was  a  hundred 
yards  down  the  slope,  on  the  edge  of  the 
clearing.  He  realized  that  the  opportunity 
he  desired  was  at  hand.  None  of  the  cabins 
was  near  the  spring,  so  that  there,  though 
plainly  visible,  they  would  be  out  of  earshot, 
and  at  this  hour  of  late  afternoon,  they  were 
likely  to  be  free  from  interruption.  So,  he 
hastened  to  join  the  girl,  who  smiled  wanly 
in  greeting  as  he  approached,  but  spoke  no 
word.  David,  too,  was  silent.  He  walked 
by  her  side  in  a  mood  of  deep  dejection, 
pondering  heavily  on  the  things  that  he  must 
say  to  her,  and  wondering  what  effect  his  con- 
fession would  have  on  her.  By  tacit  consent 
of  both,  they  waited  before  speaking  until 
they  should  come  to  the  spring. 

Elizabeth,  too,  was  a  prey  to  depression. 

265 


266        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

A  single  glance  into  the  young  man's  face 
had  sufficed  to  show  how  ill  at  ease  he  was, 
how  utterly  wretched.  She  knew  intuitively 
that  his  trouble  concerned  her,  that  it  had 
to  do  with  the  mysterious  barrier  which 
reared  itself  between  them.  Moreover,  she 
had  read  between  the  lines  in  the  note  he 
had  written,  and  understood  from  it  that  he 
was  compelled  to  leave  her.  She  did  not 
quite  know  whether  his  departure  was  volun- 
tary or  not.  She  dared  hope  that  his  flight 
had  been  caused  by  something  against  his 
own  will,  which  he  was  powerless  to  resist. 
Then,  at  the  moment  of  his  return  so  unex- 
pectedly, she  had  been  too  weak  to  withstand 
the  longing  of  her  heart,  had  gone  to  his 
arms.  She  had  rested  within  that  shelter  in 
a  joy  that  was  perfect,  though  so  pitifully 
brief.  For  a  few  glorious  seconds  her  heart 
had  beaten  in  unison  with  his,  with  no  thought 
of  things  past  or  to  come,  but  only  the  rap- 
ture of  the  present. 

She  had  felt  the  light  touch  of  his  lips  as 
he  kissed  her  hair,  and  the  exquisite  thrill 
of  it  stirred  again  in  her  memory  now  as  she 
stole  a  glance  into  his  face.  But  she  remem- 
bered, too,  her  horrible  awakening  from  the 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        267 

dream  of  bliss,  when  the  man  she  loved  had 
stood  apart  from  her,  and  had  let  her  go 
from  him  without  a  word.  She  had  realized 
then  that  her  happiness  was  seriously  threat- 
ened, if  not  already  destroyed.  Yet,  she  con- 
tinued to  hope,  because,  as  it  seemed  to  her, 
if  she  could  not  still  hope,  she  must  die.  Now, 
as  she  walked  at  his  side,  watching  with 
secret  glances  the  face  she  so  loved,  the 
somber  expression  of  his  features  chilled  her 
with  a  fear  of  irreparable  disaster.  His 
silence,  the  gravity  of  his  air,  the  downcast 
eyes  and  sternly  compressed  lips  filled  her 
with  dire  forebodings.  The  oppression  on 
her  spirits  grew  heavier.  It  required  all  the 
strength  of  her  will,  which  was  not  small,  to 
maintain  the  semblance  of  self-control.  Her 
soul  was  aching  with  desire  for  this  man's 
love.  For  a  few  splendid  days,  she  had  be- 
lieved that  he  belonged  to  her,  that  his  need 
of  her  was  as  hers  of  him.  But  afterward 
the  shadow  had  fallen  between  them.  It  lay 
there  still.  Now  as  they  walked  onward  to- 
gether the  gloom  of  it  lay  dark  upon  them, 
and  blotted  out  all  the  light  of  the  world. 
And  still  she  dared  to  hope  that  he  loved  her. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  endure  all 


268        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

tilings — parting,  even  life  without  him,  or 
death,  which  would  be  easier — if  only  he 
loved  her.  She  feared  somehow,  with  a  subtle 
woman's  instinct,  that  his  heart  was  not  after 
all  in  her  keeping.  And  still  she  dared  to 
hope  that  he  loved  her — else  her  heart  must 
break. 

Euth,  from  her  place  of  concealment  among 
the  gallberry  bushes,  saw  the  two  come  down 
to  the  spring,  but  her  ears  caught  no  word 
spoken  by  either  as  they  approached.  She 
noted  with  a  wonder  that  was  half  pleasure 
their  sorrowful  faces.  She  wondered  still 
more  when  she  saw  this  other  girl  seat  her- 
self on  a  fallen  tree  trunk  by  the  spring  still 
in  silence,  while  David,  equally  mute,  stood 
before  her  in  an  attitude  of  constraint.  It 
was  a  long  minute  before  the  young  man's 
voice  sounded.  For  a  part  of  the  interval, 
Euth's  eager  glances  studied  his  face  fondly. 
She  rejoiced  to  see  the  hue  of  health  in  his 
cheeks ;  she  grieved  over  his  careworn  expres- 
sion. She  attributed  it,  and  rightly,  to  the 
woman  beside  him,  and  hatred  quickened  in 
her  for  the  one,  corresponding  to  her  love 
for  the  other.  Then  her  gaze  went  intently  to 
that  woman,  and  rested  there. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TBAIL        269 

The  sight  of  the  other's  face  worked  a 
curious  spell  on  Euth.  The  contempt  and 
loathing  that  had  filled  her  were  subdued 
little  by  little  as  she  surveyed  the  pure  and 
lovely  face  of  Elizabeth.  Despite  herself,  the 
girl  recognized  the  essential  nobility  of  her 
rival.  She  struggled  in  vain  against  her 
changing  impressions.  She  was  forced  to 
acknowledge  against  her  will  that  here  was 
no  wanton  creature  such  as  had  been  sug- 
gested by  the  soldier's  slurring  tale.  She 
could  not  deny  the  dignity  and  wholesome- 
ness  of  this  princess  before  whom  David 
stood  in  such  humility.  Clashing  emotions 
made  tumult  in  Buth's  bosom.  She  felt  ut- 
terly at  a  loss  to  understand  this  situation 
on  which  she  had  intruded.  Bewilderment 
overcame  her.  She  was  sure  only  that  she 
had  utterly  misjudged  this  girl  whom  a 
venomous  tongue  had  slandered.  She  must 
revise  her  judgment  through  and  through. 
But  even  as  she  admitted  how  great  had  been 
her  error  in  estimating  the  princess,  Euth 
was  terrified  before  the  reality.  She  had 
been  prepared  to  war  against  a  wanton,  to 
go  to  any  length  in  order  to  rescue  David 
from  his  bondage.    But  now  she  found  her- 


270        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

self  confronted  with  a  task  altogether  differ- 
ent and  infinitely  more  difficult.  She  must 
face  and  triumph  over  a  rival  who  was  both 
beautiful  and  worthy.  Ruth  had  little  vanity 
and  less  knowledge  of  her  own  loveliness. 
In  this  moment  of  meeting,  she  had  no  doubt 
that  the  other  was  her  superior  in  every 
feminine  charm.  She  could  not  wonder  that 
David  should  prefer  this  gracious  stranger 
to  herself.  But  the  admission  of  her  own  in- 
feriority left  Ruth  stricken.  Black  despair 
fell  on  her.  As  she  crouched  in  her  ambush 
and  stared  out  on  the  two  the  look  in  her 
eyes  was  that  of  a  creature  wounded  to  the 
death.  And  then,  at  last,  there  came  to  her 
ears  the  voice  of  David,  speaking  very 
softly,  brokenly. 

"I've  been  with  yer  pappy.  I  told  him 
what  the  reason  was  why  I  ran  away  last 
night."  He  raised  his  eyes  for  the  first  time 
in  a  fleeting  glance  toward  Elizabeth,  but  the 
expression  on  her  face  was  inscrutable,  and 
gave  him  no  assistance.  He  looked  down  at 
the  ground  again,  and  resumed  his  attempt 
at  explanation.  "Ye  see,  'Liz'beth,  yeVe 
been  so  kind  V  me  that  I  know  it  ain't  right 
fer  me  t'  go  away  without  tellin'  ye  why. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TKAIL        271 

I've  jest  told  yer  pappy,  an'  he" —  David 
broke  off  in  confusion.  To  quote  the  father 
was  to  accuse  the  daughter  of  loving  him  un- 
asked. An  instinctive  chivalry  held  his 
tongue. 

But  now  at  last  the  girl  herself  helped  him 
a  little  by  speaking  for  the  first  time.  Her 
voice,  though  faint,  was  firm  and  even,  and 
the  eyes  with  which  she  contemplated  him 
were  brave,  despite  the  tortured  shadows  in 
them. 

"You  told  pappy?  You  must  tell  me, 
David.    Why  must  you  go?" 

"I  can't  stay  here,"  was  the  answer, 
spoken  in  a  tone  that  was  resolute  for  the 
first  time  during  the  interview,  "because  I 
belong  some'eres  else.  There's  somebody 
a-waitin'  fer  me  back  up  there,  an'  I  must 
go  back  home  t'  her."  The  final  pronoun 
was  uttered  after  a  slight  pause  and  with  an 
inflection  that  was  significant. 

As  she  heard  the  word,  Elizabeth  under- 
stood everything  in  a  lightning  flash  of  il- 
lumination, and  the  pang  of  that  knowledge 
pierced  her  to  the  soul.  Somehow,  notwith- 
standing her  feminine  intuition,  she  had 
never    suspected   the   presence    of   another 


272        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

woman  in  the  life  of  the  man  that  she  loved. 
Even  when  she  realized  the  existence  of  a 
barrier  between  them,  she  did  not  guess  its 
nature.  So,  the  truth  came  to  her  now  with 
a  shock  that  racked  her  to  the  foundation  of 
her  being.  The  simple  statement  from  David 
meant  the  end  of  everything  for  her.  All  the 
light  went  out  of  her  life,  and  left  only  a 
darkness  complete  and  impenetrable.  Under 
the  golden  tint  of  her  complexion,  a  deathly 
pallor  showed.  The  lids  sank  heavily  over 
the  eyes.  It  was  as  if  her  soul  were  exhaled 
in  the  sigh  that  passed  so  softly  from  her 
lips. 

David  heard  the  sound  of  that  gentle 
breath,  and  looked  toward  her  again.  He 
saw  her  with  shut  eyes,  swaying  a  little  where 
she  sat.  He  took  a  step  forward  to  clasp 
her,  fearful  lest  she  fall.  But  he  checked 
himself,  as  he  saw  the  form  grow  tense  again 
by  the  girl's  own  effort  of  will.  Yet,  though 
he  held  back  from  her,  he  was  longing  as 
never  before  to  take  her  into  his  arms,  to 
comfort  her,  to  assuage  the  mortal  hurt  he 
himself  had  given  her,  with  words  and  kisses. 
He  did  not  yield  to  his  desire  because  he  knew 
that  to  do  so  would  mean  in  the  end  an  in- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        273 

crease  of  the  agony  she  must  sutler.  More- 
over, he  knew  that  he  must  restrain  his  im- 
pulse for  his  own  sake  as  well  as  for  hers. 
There  was  no  thought  in  his  mind  now  that 
this  girl  belonged  to  a  people  strange  to  him, 
whose  ways  were  not  his  ways.  There  was 
no  feeling  of  revolt  in  his  heart  now  because 
of  her  father's  savagery.  Once  again,  the 
glamour  was  on  him.  Even  in  her  misery, 
the  magnetism  of  her  presence  stole  upon 
him,  and  held  him  in  thrall.  He  tore  away 
his  eyes  from  her  face  lest  the  pathetic  ap- 
peal of  it  should  destroy  his  resolve.  So, 
he  did  not  see  her  eyes  unclose,  did  not  know 
the  searching  sadness  in  the  girl's  long 
scrutiny  of  him.  Her  voice  startled  him  with 
a  question,  spoken  very  feebly,  yet  with  a 
demand  not  to  be  denied.  And  it  was  a  ques- 
tion that  caught  him  in  the  moment  when  he 
was  least  prepared.  It  came,  though  hardly 
louder  than  a  whisper,  like  a  fierce  cry  from 
his  own  conscience. 

"Do  you — love  her?" 

It  was  his  own  cowardice  that  drove 
David  to  answer  promptly,  decisively — fear 
of  his  own  weakness,  which  might  still 
further  increase  her  misery.    He  spoke  with 


274        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

a  coldness  that  covered  the  effort  of  self- 
restraint. 

"Yes."  And  then  he  added,  as  if  to  con- 
firm a  faltering  purpose  for  his  own  sake: 
"Yes,  I  love  her — I  love  Euth — my  Euth." 

It  was  as  if  the  word  held  a  spell  to  evoke 
a  vision  of  serenest  joy.  He  saw  again  the 
orchard  back  there  on  the  farm,  saw  the  fawn 
issue  from  the  thicket  and  stand  regarding 
him  with  placid  eyes,  saw  the  face  of  Euth 
as  she  parted  the  branches,  and  looked  out 
from  the  frame  of  foliage  at  him.  Then  his 
manhood  had  not  known  the  rich  gifts  her 
lips  had  to  offer.  Afterward  he  had  learned. 
The  memory  of  their  kisses  came  to  him  now. 
The  memory  was  a  delight,  and  in  it  he  for- 
got all  other  longing  in  a  poignant  desire  to 
be  with  Euth  again. 

Something  in  David's  expression  must 
have  told  the  truth  to  Elizabeth.  A  spasm 
of  physical  pain  distorted  her  features  for 
an  instant,  which  had  its  source  in  her  heart. 
Then  she  asserted  her  strength,  and  her  ex- 
pression became  one  of  sorrowful  resigna- 
tion, yet  with  something  in  it  that  hinted  of 
a  soul  undaunted,  even  though  the  heart  were 
broken.     She  stood  up,  as  if  to  show  that 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        275 

there  was  no  need  of  further  discussion.  And 
her  words  were  of  like  effect. 

"You  must  go  to  her." 

The  brief  utterance,  spoken  so  quietly  and 
so  unfalteringly,  contained  all  of  a  woman's 
mightiest  sacrifice.  It  was  her  renunciation 
of  her  own  happiness,  her  gift  at  a  cost  be- 
yond words  to  that  other,  unknown  woman, 
who  had  first  claim  on  the  man  she  loved. 
Perhaps  Elizabeth  believed  her  own  powers 
of  attraction  strong  enough  to  draw  this  man 
to  her  and  to  hold  him  against  the  world. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  effect  on  him  of  her 
father's  violence,  which  had  included  in- 
directly a  certain  distaste  for  her,  too,  as 
one  of  the  same  blood,  as  one  of  a  people 
strange  to  him,  whose  ways  were  not  his 
ways.  But,  though  the  princess  might  have 
faith  in  her  ability  to  rule  David's  heart  at 
her  will,  and  though  every  atom  of  her  being 
was  vibrant  to  win  his  love,  she  rose  above 
all  selfish  desire  from  pure  purpose  toward 
the  right,  and  bade  him  go  whither  he  was  in 
duty  bound. 

She  had  no  need  to  pour  out  all  her  heart 
in  a  torrent  of  words,  to  tell  how  deeply  she 
loved  him,  how  tremendous  was  the  suffering 


276        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

inflicted  by  her  sacrifice.  It  was  all  written 
on  her  face,  in  the  tremulous,  drooping  curves 
of  her  scarlet  lips,  in  the  clouded  deeps  of 
the  eyes.  David,  shaken  by  clashing  emo- 
tions, did  not  see,  for  he  could  not  bear  to 
look  at  her  in  this  supreme  moment.  But 
there  was  another  who  did  see. 

Ruth,  from  her  hiding  place,  not  only  heard 
every  word  spoken  by  the  two,  but  her  aston- 
ished gaze  noted  every  revelation  of  Eliza- 
beth's love  and  self-abnegation.  The  sight 
filled  her  with  penitence  for  the  injustice  she 
had  done  this  other  girl  in  her  thoughts.  She 
was  filled  with  pity  and  sympathy  for  the  tor- 
ment of  which  she  was  so  innocently  the 
cause.  But  chiefly  it  was  shame  that  moved 
her — shame  that  she  should  so  have  mis- 
judged a  fellow-woman,  who  suffered  so 
sorely,  yet  endured  her  suffering  with  such 
nobility  of  character.  All  her  personal 
dread,  grown  greater  at  first  sight  of  her 
rival 's  loveliness,  had  vanished  on  hearing 
David's  declaration  that  he  still  loved  her. 
Her  later  emotion  had  little  to  do  with  self, 
little  to  do  with  David.  It  was  all  concerned 
with  this  other,  whose  misery  Ruth  could 
understand  out  of  her  own  agony  in  the  last 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        277 

few  days.  Of  a  sudden,  she  felt  that  she  must 
go  to  the  girl,  must  try  to  help  her  in  the 
hour  of  need  by  tenderest  sympathy. 

Ruth  acted  on  the  impulse  at  once.  She 
issued  from  the  concealment  of  the  bushes, 
and  went  swiftly  toward  the  two  by  the 
spring. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CRIMSON  burned  in  Elizabeth's  cheeks  at 
the  first  appearance  of  the  figure  from 
out  the  screen  of  flaunting-hued  foliage,  and 
her  dark  eyes  flashed  angrily.  She  thought 
it  was  one  of  the  Croatan  girls,  who  had  been 
eavesdropping.  But,  in  the  same  moment, 
she  perceived  her  mistake;  for  this  was  no 
member  of  the  tribe,  but  an  utter  stranger, 
who  came  toward  her  so  swiftly,  with  such  a 
resolute  air.  She  was  startled  out  of  her 
usual  poise  by  the  apparition  of  a  white  girl 
there  in  the  wilderness,  who,  as  she  noted 
in  quick,  comprehensive  survey,  was  well- 
dressed  and  ladylike,  beautiful  of  face  and 
of  form.  In  her  surprise,  the  princess  uttered 
a  stifled  ejaculation,  which  caused  David  to 
look  toward  her.  He  observed  the  expres- 
sion of  amazement  on  her  face,  and  turned 
his  head  to  follow  the  direction  of  her  eyes. 
He  saw  Ruth,  hardly  two  yards  distant  from 
him,  coming  forward  with  hurried  steps,  her 

278 


THE  HOMEWABD  TRAIL        279 

cheeks  glowing,  her  violet  eyes  suffused  with 
tenderness  as  they  met  his.  A  mighty  emo- 
tion shook  him,  in  which  were  blended  aston- 
ishment and  delight.  His  face  whitened  for 
a  moment,  and  he  trembled.  He  strode  to- 
ward her.  Her  name  burst  from  his  lips  in 
a  shout  of  joy. 

"Ruth!" 

The  speaking  of  the  name  revealed  much, 
if  not  all,  to  Elizabeth.  She  understood  that 
somehow  it  had  come  to  pass  that  the  girl 
to  whom  David  was  pledged  was  here  before 
her.  How  or  why  Ruth  had  come  was  a 
mystery  beyond  her  solving.  But  it  seemed 
to  the  princess  just  then  that  the  reason  mat- 
tered not  at  all.  The  fact  of  her  successful 
rival's  being  there  was  the  only  thing  of  im- 
portance. In  her  present  mood  of  despair 
and  renunciation,  it  seemed  to  Elizabeth 
that  the  coming  of  this  other  girl  was  indeed 
a  fitting  climax  to  her  talk  with  David.  She 
recognized  with  a  pang  of  final  hopelessness, 
from  David's  voice  and  manner  as  he  went 
forward,  that  he  did  in  truth  love  this  girl 
to  whom  he  was  bound,  that  she  herself  had 
neither  part  nor  lot  in  his  heart's  desire. 
She  had  known  it  before,  but  she  felt  its 


280        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

verity  anew  with  an  intolerable  ache  when  it 
was  presented  thus  visibly  before  her  eyes. 
She  saw  Ruth  swept  into  David's  arms,  saw 
their  lips  meet  and  linger.  She  turned  her 
gaze  away,  unable  to  bear  the  spectacle  of 
that  fond  meeting.  She  stood  with  brooding 
eyes  turned  unseeing  toward  the  western 
horizon,  where  great  banks  of  storm  clouds 
shut  out  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  A 
little  breeze  touched  her  with  the  chill  autumn 
air  of  nightfall.  It  seemed  to  pierce  through 
her  heart  with  an  icy  coldness.  She  stood 
bereft,  solitary,  in  desolation.  And  in  her 
ears  reverberated  discordantly  the  hushed 
murmurs  of  the  lovers'  voices. 

It  was  an  eternity  to  Elizabeth  while  she 
stood  there  apart,  isolated  in  her  anguish. 
Yet,  it  was  for  no  more  than  a  few  seconds 
that  Ruth  forgot  all  else  in  the  bliss  of  re- 
union with  David.  Then  she  recalled  the 
purpose  that  had  driven  her  out  of  hiding. 
She  felt  again  the  impulse  of  atonement  to- 
ward this  woman  whom  she  had  so  bitterly 
feared  and  condemned  in  her  thoughts — and 
so  unjustly.  Her  own  instinct  taught  her 
how  dreadful  must  be  the  suffering  inflicted 
on  Elizabeth  by  witnessing  this  meeting  be- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL       281 

tween  her  and  David.  Ruth  knew  the  secret 
of  the  princess'  heart,  though  she  knew,  too, 
that  she  must  never  betray  her  knowledge. 
But  by  as  much  as  her  own  happiness  was 
great,  by  so  much  her  heart  went  out  in  pity 
toward  the  one  whom  that  happiness  left  for- 
lorn. So,  she  withdrew  herself  from  David's 
embrace,  though  he  sought  to  restrain  her. 
She  went  straight  to  the  princess,  and  threw 
her  arms  about  the  wondering  girl,  and 
kissed  her  warmly. 

"I  know,"  she  explained  hastily,  before 
the  other  could  summon  a  word  of  question, 
"you  are  the  princess.  I  have  heard.  You 
saved  David  from  the  river.  I  owe  him  to 
you.  I  owe — everything  to  you."  The  last 
words  came  impetuously. 

Perhaps  Elizabeth  divined  in  some  degree 
the  significance  contained  in  them.  Perhaps 
she  gained  from  them  a  clue  to  Ruth's  ap- 
preciation of  the  fact  of  her  own  renuncia- 
tion. Anyhow,  the  warm  gratitude  of  Ruth 
brought  to  Elizabeth  the  first  touch  of  com- 
fort in  her  misery,  and  her  words  told  her 
appreciation  frankly.  An  instantaneous  lik- 
ing developed  between  the  two,  in  spite  of  the 
reasons  that  existed  for  mutual  distrust  and 


282        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

jealousy.  The  nobility  of  the  princess'  char- 
acter raised  her  superior  to  blaming  this 
other  girl  for  the  grievous  wound  inflicted 
on  her  by  fate.  And  Ruth  appreciated  that 
nobility,  which  she  had  learned  through  her 
eyes  and  ears  while  in  hiding,  and  trusted 
to  it,  knowing  that  her  happiness  was  safe 
in  the  generosity  of  this  other. 

They  were  interrupted  by  David,  who,  un- 
mindful of  Elizabeth  for  the  time,  plied  Ruth 
with  questions  concerning  her  presence.  It 
was  with  judicious  reserve  that  Ruth  ex- 
plained the  reasons  of  her  coming.  She  told 
of  the  visit  of  Morris  to  her  grandfather's 
home,  and  of  hearing  from  him  the  story  as 
to  David's  river  adventure  and  Elizabeth's 
part  in  it.  She  carefully  avoided  any  refer- 
ence to  the  vicious  insinuations  of  the  soldier 
concerning  her  lover  and  the  princess,  or  to 
her  own  jealousy  and  alarm  lest  that  lover 
be  stolen  away  from  her.  David  was  satis- 
fied with  the  narrative,  and  did  not  guess 
that  aught  was  concealed.  He  exulted  in  this 
proof  of  his  sweetheart's  devotion.  It  grati- 
fied his  pride  that  she  should  have  thus  taken 
the  hazards  of  a  journey  alone  through  the 
wilderness.     If  Elizabeth   suspected  aught 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        283 

that  lay  beneath  the  surface  of  Ruth's  ac- 
count, she  showed  no  sign,  either  then  or 
afterward. 

After  a  little,  Elizabeth  fell  silent,  ab- 
sorbed in  troubled  thought,  while  the  other 
two  continued  talking.  She  spoke  presently 
in  a  tone  that  arrested  instant  attention  and 
apprehension. 

"I  don't  like  to  say  it,"  she  began  ab- 
ruptly; "it  seems  so  awfully  inhospitable. 
But  there  are  reasons,' '  she  went  on  hur- 
riedly, rather  shamefacedly.  She  did  not 
particularize  beyond  a  vague  statement. 
"It's  pappy,  you  know." 

David  uttered  an  exclamation  under  his 
breath.  For  the  first  time  since  the  appear- 
ance of  Ruth  on  the  scene,  he  remembered 
the  plans  to  which  the  chief  of  the  Croatans 
was  devoted,  and  he  guessed  immediately 
the  cause  of  the  daughter's  evident  concern 
over  the  situation  that  had  developed.  But 
he  was  at  a  loss  as  to  what  course  should 
be  pursued,  and  waited  for  Elizabeth  to  con- 
tinue. 

" Pappy 's  strange  in  some  ways,"  the  girl 
resumed,  speaking  with  evident  constraint, 
as  if  her  lack  of  candor  made  her  explana- 


284        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

tion  difficult  and  distasteful.  "I  think — " 
she  turned  to  David  appealingly,  as  if  hop- 
ing that  he  might  understand  without  more 
explicit  words  from  her — "I  think  it  would 
be  better  for  you  two  to  go — to  start  away — 
at  once." 

She  noted  the  look  of  pained  surprise  on 
Ruth's  face,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  ap- 
pealingly. 

"You  can't  understand,  of  course,' '  she 
said  sorrowfully.  "You  must  take  my  word 
for  it.  I  hate  more  than  I  can  tell  you  to 
send  you  away  so.  But  it  is  best — safest. 
It's  on  pappy 's  account.  He  has  dreadful 
rages  sometimes.  His  red  rages,  the  tribe 
calls  them. ' '  The  beautiful  face  flushed  with 
embarrassment.  "He  hates  strangers — 
sometimes !  So,  I  think  you  ought  to  go  away 
together — at  once.    It  will  be  safer  so. ' ' 

Ruth's  face  still  wore  an  expression  of 
hurt  surprise,  but  she  ventured  no  comment ; 
only  glanced  toward  David  inquiringly. 
David,  however,  nodded  assent.  He  appre- 
ciated to  the  full  the  solicitude  of  the  princess 
in  their  behalf.  He  meant  that  her  advice 
should  be  followed  in  so  far  as  it  concerned 
Ruth.    In  regard  to  himself,  the  matter  was 


THE  HOMEWARD  TEAIL        285 

altogether  different.  Such  a  simple  solution 
of  the  difficulty  could  not  be  applied  in  his 
own  case.  Of  this  Elizabeth  knew  nothing, 
for  she  had  not  yet  learned  of  what  had  oc- 
curred between  him  and  her  father.  He 
would  have  preferred  to  keep  silence  as  to 
this  interview,  but  that  was  now  rendered 
impossible  by  the  necessity  of  immediate  ac- 
tion for  Ruth's  sake. 

This  was  clearly  indicated  in  Elizabeth's 
next  utterance. 

" Pappy  mustn't  even  see  Ruth.  I  can't 
tell  you  just  why.    But  I  know — I  know!" 

David  spoke  rapidly,  his  voice  authorita- 
tive. 

"Yes,  Ruth  must  go  at  once.  The  princess 
is  right,"  he  said  to  the  astonished  girl.  "It 
would  be  safer  fer  ye  t'  go.  Yes,  Ruth,  ye 
must  start  out  at  once." 

"You  mean,  we  must  go,"  the  girl  cor- 
rected. 

"Yes,  both  of  you,  of  course,"  Elizabeth 
declared. 

But  David  shook  his  head.  His  face  was 
set  in  lines  of  grim  determination. 

"No,  Ruthie,  I  can't  go  with  ye.  I  hate 
V  think  o'  ye  ridin'  all  by  yer  lonesome 


286        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

through  the  woods,  but  it  can't  be  he'ped. 
I've  got  t'  stay  on  here  fer  a  week  yit." 

Ruth  cried  out  in  indignant  reproach.  The 
crisp  "Why?"  of  the  princess  cut  through 
the  queries  of  the  other  girl,  and  David 
turned  toward  her  to  answer.  He  spoke  so 
harshly  that  she  winced;  for  the  memory  of 
her  father 's  treatment  of  him  filled  him  with 
resentment. 

"I  give  yer  pappy  my  word  t'  stay  on  here 
fer  seven  days.  I  had  t'  promise  him,"  he 
added,  with  a  vindictive  scowl  at  the  memory. 

Elizabeth  had  no  need  of  further  explana- 
tion. She  surmised  readily  enough  the  essen- 
tials of  that  interview  which  had  resulted  in 
David's  forced  giving  of  his  parole.  A  hot 
flush  of  shame  mantled  her  cheeks  as  she 
realized  the  indignity  that  her  father,  who 
loved  her,  had  all  unwittingly  put  upon  her. 
She  realized,  too,  to  some  extent  at  least,  the 
harm  her  father's  violence  must  work  in 
David's  estimate  of  her,  the  daughter.  It 
had  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  experiencing 
the  acme  of  torment ;  yet  at  this  thought  she 
felt  a  new  pang.  The  harshness  in  David's 
voice  as  he  spoke  to  her  was  like  a  lash  on 
her  naked  souL 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        287 

Ruth  felt  her  earlier  indignation  die.  She 
was  influenced  by  the  gravity  of  the  other 
two,  distressed  and  terrified  by  the  menace 
of  unknown  perils.  She  was  aghast  that 
David  must  remain  exposed  to  those  dangers 
of  which  she  had  dreamed,  from  which  she 
had  come  to  rescue  him.  But  she  was  still 
moved  by  the  great  relief  from  dread  of  the 
worst  danger — that  of  any  evil  from  the 
woman  she  had  so  misjudged.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  distraught  at  the  idea  of  leaving 
David,  while  she  sought  safety  in  flight. 
She  remonstrated  vehemently,  but  to  no  avail. 
She  pleaded  with  her  lover  to  accompany 
her,  notwithstanding  his  pledge  to  remain. 
Elizabeth  joined  with  her  in  entreaties.  She 
urged  that  his  promise  was  not  binding,  since 
it  was  given  under  duress.  David,  however, 
was  obdurate.  He  resisted  both  argument 
and  prayers.  In  the  end,  the  two  girls  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  he  was  not  to  be  turned 
from  his  purpose  of  holding  fast  to  his  word. 

It  was  Elizabeth  who  became  convinced 
first,  and  by  her  assurances  Ruth  was  at  last 
prevailed  upon  to  yield  to  the  inevitable,  and 
to  take  her  departure  from  the  encampment 
forthwith.    For  the  princess  pledged  herself 


288        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

to  save  David  from  any  harm.  She  asserted 
that  she  would  have  power  to  mold  her  father 
to  her  will.  While  neither  she  nor  any  could 
curb  him  in  the  frenzy  of  a  red  rage,  she 
would  be  able  to  soothe  him  and  finally  to 
sway  him  as  his  wrath  diminished.  She  gave 
Ruth  her  promise  to  guard  the  young  man, 
and  to  secure  his  speedy  release  from  the 
encampment,  his  speedy  return  to  the  sweet- 
heart, who  would  be  waiting  so  anxiously  for 
him. 

There  were  kisses  and  tears  between  the 
two  girls  at  parting.  Elizabeth  had  decided 
it  would  be  wiser  for  Ruth  to  go  as  she  had 
come,  quite  alone,  without  having  David  to 
accompany  her  to  where  her  horse  waited; 
since  there  were  probably  spies  watching  the 
young  man  with  instructions  to  prevent  his 
leaving  the  encampment.  That  she  was  cor- 
rect in  this  supposition  was  soon  to  be  proven 
in  disastrous  fashion. 

When  Elizabeth  and  Ruth  had  finished 
their  farewells,  the  princess  turned,  and  took 
up  the  pail,  and  filled  it  at  the  spring,  and 
then  walked  with  it  swiftly  through  the 
gathering  dusk  toward  the  cabin.  She  felt 
that   the   limit    of  her   strength  had   been 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        289 

reached.  It  seemed  to  her  that,  if  she  were 
to  see  them  again  in  each  other's  arms,  she 
must  go  mad.  She  had  the  strength  of  soul 
to  sacrifice  herself,  to  give  the  man  she  loved 
to  another;  but  she  had  not  the  strength  to 
look  again  on  their  rapture. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEN  lie  returned  to  the  cabin,  after 
his  parting  with  Ruth,  David  found 
no  one  in  the  living-room,  which  pleased  him, 
for  he  was  anxious  to  be  alone  a  little  while 
to  meditate  on  the  strange  and  vital  happen- 
ings of  the  day.  His  worst  anxiety  had  been 
relieved  by  Elizabeth's  definite  assurances 
of  securing  his  release.  Freed  from  worry 
on  this  score,  he  was  able  to  enjoy  to  the  full 
the  pleasure  that  had  been  caused  him  by 
Ruth's  appearance.  His  heart  was  at  peace 
for  the  first  time  in  many  days,  because  he 
no  longer  doubted  his  entire  love  for  the  girl 
to  whom  he  had  plighted  his  troth.  He  filled 
his  pipe,  and  sat  smoking  with  great  content- 
ment. Just  then,  he  had  little  thought  to 
spare  for  the  girl  on  whom  he  had  involun- 
tarily inflicted  suffering  so  severe.  He  had, 
indeed,  little  thought  for  himself.  He  was 
thinking  intently,  with  warm  tenderness  in  his 
heart,  of  Ruth,  of  the  lovelight  in  her  violet 

290 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        291 

eyes  when  she  had  looked  at  him,  of  the  soft 
sweetness  of  her  lips  when  they  had  lain  on 
his. 

David  aroused  with  a  start  when  the  cabin 
door  banged  open,  and  the  chief  stamped 
noisily  into  the  room.  A  single  glance  at 
Lowrie  was  enough  to  shatter  all  of  his  new- 
found tranquillity. 

The  leader  of  the  tribe  was  in  one  of  his 
red  rages.  The  man's  appearance  left  no 
doubt  of  the  fact.  The  great  chest  was  heav- 
ing convulsively  like  that  of  a  man  who  has 
just  run  a  race.  The  huge  hands  were  balled 
into  fists.  But  it  was  the  face  that  awed  the 
mountaineer,  and  moved  him  to  new  fear  for 
his  own  safety.  The  skin  was  empurpled. 
The  muscles  were  twitching.  The  lips  were 
drawn  back  in  a  grin  of  ferocity.  The  eyes 
were  bloodshot,  narrowed  to  slits,  with  the 
pupils  pin  points  of  flame.  He  had  left  the 
door  open  behind  him,  and  David  could  see 
gathered  beyond  the  threshold  a  half-dozen 
of  the  tribesmen,  whose  black  eyes  as  they 
watched  gleamed  with  malevolence. 

Lowrie  halted  a  pace  distant  from  David, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  glaring  in  fury. 
Then  his  voice  came  in  a  bellow. 


292        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

1 ' I'll  l'arn  ye  t'  go  a-kiSsin'  gals  round 
hyar,  ye  damn '  whelp !  I  '11  hev  ye  put  whar 
ye '11  be  shet  o'  thet."  He  beckoned  swiftly 
toward  the  men  at  the  door.  "Grab  'im,  an' 
throw  'im  inter  the  guard-house  afore  I  take 
my  han's  t'  'im!" 

The  men  surged  forward,  laid  hold  on 
David,  and  hustled  him  out  of  the  room, 
while  the  chief  stood  by,  shaking  with  the 
wrath  that  was  on  him,  and  cursing  horribly, 
but  holding  back  by  a  mighty  effort  from  an 
actual  assault.  The  mountaineer  made  no 
resistance  whatsoever.  He  was  only  anxious 
to  be  quit  of  the  frantic  man  tfefore  worse 
befell.  He  did  not  see  Elizabeth,  who  in  her 
room  had  been  disturbed  by  her  father's 
cries,  and  had  come  out  just  as  David  was 
dragged  from  the  cabin. 

The  girl  faced  her  father  intrepidly. 

"For  shame,  pappy!"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  shouldn't  treat  David  so." 

But  Lowrie  was  past  caring  for  aught  save 
the  hate  that  boiled  within  him.  Even  Eliza- 
beth had  no  power  now  to  turn  his  anger 
aside.  He  stared  at  her  without  any  soften- 
ing in  the  fierceness  of  his  expression. 

"Git  inter  yer  room,  gal!"  he  commanded. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        293 

"Git,  if  ye  don't  want  t'  be  carried  thar,  an' 
tied  up." 

Elizabeth  turned,  and  went  out  in  silence, 
without  any  attempt  at  further  protest.  She 
knew  the  heaviness  of  his  hand,  and  she  knew 
that  his  threat  was  not  idly  spoken.  Her 
effort  to  influence  him  must  await  a  more 
fitting  season. 

David  passed  a  wretched  night,  bolted 
within  the  tiny,  windowless  cabin,  which 
served  as  a  jail  for  the  settlement.  The  dis- 
tress of  his  situation  was  the  worse  by  con- 
trast with  the  high  anticipations  that  had 
filled  him  at  the  moment  when  the  crash  came. 
Apprehensions  as  to  what  his  fate  might  be 
thronged  upon  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  only  hope  lay  in  Elizabeth's  interven- 
tion, but  he  despaired  of  success  in  this  direc- 
tion, for  he  had  heard  the  manner  of  Lowrie  's 
speech  to  his  daughter.  A  surly  jailer  gave 
him  food  and  drink  in  the  morning,  but 
would  not  answer  a  word  to  his  questions. 
The  weary  hours  wore  on  with  fearful  slow- 
ness until  the  youth  was  almost  crazed  with 
the  desperateness  of  his  plight.  For  now 
he  feared,  not  only  for  his  own  fate,  but  for 
what  might  menace  Ruth.     Evidently,  the 


294        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

chief  had  learned  of  her  presence.  He  might 
have  ordered  her  to  be  pursued,  to  be  cap- 
tured, to  be  reserved  for  any  fate  that  his 
insane  malice  might  devise.  With  morbid 
imagination,  David  could  only  guess  as  to 
what  might  be  happening,  while  he  was  shut 
helpless  within  the  walls  of  his  prison. 

Night  came  again.  Another  meal  was  set 
before  him  in  silence.  It  was  not  until  nearly 
midnight,  as  he  reckoned  the  time,  that  a 
change  came.  Then  he  heard  a  murmur  of 
voices  outside  the  cabin  door.  They  ceased 
presently.  He  heard  the  noise  of  the  bolt 
shot  back,  and  the  door  opened.  Elizabeth 
entered,  carrying  a  lantern,  and  shut  the  door 
behind  her. 

"You  are  free  to  go,  David,' '  she  said 
quietly,  with  an  undernote  of  sadness  in  her 
voice. 

David  sprang  to  her,  and  caught  her  free 
hand  in  a  warm  clasp. 

"YeVe  talked  yer  pappy  over!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  didn't  think  it  could  be  done. 
I  'lowed  they  wa'n't  nothin'  could  stop  him — 
not  even  you-all,  'Liz'beth."  But  his  joyous 
smile  over  the  unexpected  news  faded  as  he 
perceived  the  gravity  of  her  face. 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        295 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

'  *  No, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  Pappy  rode  off  some- 
where this  morning,  and  hasn't  come  back 
yet.  I  lied  to  the  guards  for  your  sake,  David. 
I  told  them  that  pappy  had  ordered  your  re- 
lease. They  believed  me,  because  I  have 
never  lied  before.  The  way  is  open  for  you 
now,  David.  But  you  must  go  at  once. 
There's  not  an  instant  to  lose.  Pappy  may 
come  any  minute."  Her  tone  was  urgent, 
with  a  tremor  of  anxiety  in  it. 

"But  will  it  be  safe  fer  you-all?"  David 
demanded.  "Won't  yer  pappy  take  it  out  on 
ye  fer  gittin'  me  off  this-away?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  once  again. 

"No,"  was  her  ready  answer.  "Pappy 
will  be  calmed  down,  I  reckon,  by  the  time  he 
gets  back,  and  I'll  be  able  to  smooth  things 
over. ' '  Then  she  spoke  swiftly,  with  new  in- 
sistence. "But  you  must  hurry,  David.  You 
mustn't  waste  time  in  talking.  You  must  go 
now — now !    Do  you  hear  f ' ' 

He  yielded,  though  somewhat  reluctantly. 
He  was  fearful  for  her,  yet  half-convinced  by 
her  protestations.  He  failed  to  understand 
that  it  was  not  so  much  alarm  over  the  pros- 
pect of  her  father's  speedy  return  that  incited 


296        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

her  to  hasten  his  going  as  it  was  the  knowl- 
edge that  her  self-control  was  near  the  break- 
ing point.  She  had  already  endured  so  much 
pain  that  it  seemed  more  than  she  could  bear 
— this  final  parting  from  the  man  she  loved. 
She  was  all  a-tremble  with  longing  to  throw 
herself  into  his  arms,  to  weep  her  heart  out 
on  his  breast.  But  she  forced  herself  to 
speak  in  passionless  tones,  to  gaze  at  him 
dry-eyed.  Her  manner  showed  nothing  of 
the  torture  within  her.  But  that  torture 
sapped  her  strength,  and  so  she  ordered  him 
to  be  gone  with  all  haste,  before  her  strength 
should  come  to  an  end.  She  guided  him  to 
a  horse,  which  she  had  in  waiting  a  little 
way  out  on  the  river-trail,  with  rations 
fastened  to  the  saddle. 

"You  must  hurry,"  were  her  last  words, 
"and  overtake  Ruth.'' 

They  parted  with  a  handclasp.  As  he  rode 
away  into  the  night,  David's  heart  was  warm 
with  gratitude  to  Elizabeth,  warmer  with 
love  for  another.  But  the  heart  in  the  breast 
of  the  girl  whom  he  left  behind  him  was  cold 
as  she  turned  and  walked  back  alone  through 
the  darkness — cold  with  the  coldness  of 
death. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

RUTH  was  so  tired  by  the  excitement 
through  which  she  had  passed  that  she 
deemed  it  unwise  to  begin  her  long  journey 
that  night.  She  was  confirmed  in  this  deci- 
sion by  the  fact  that  it  was  almost  dark  when 
she  reached  the  spot  where  the  horse  was 
tethered.  She  cooked  her  meal,  and  immedi- 
ately afterward  went  to  sleep  in  her  blanket. 
That  she  was  indeed  excessively  fatigued 
was  proven  by  her  sleeping  soundly  until 
mid-forenoon  of  the  next  day.  Then  she 
breakfasted  hurriedly,  and  set  forth.  Yet, 
though  thus  delayed,  she  did  not  force  her 
horse's  pace.  Somehow,  she  found  herself 
unable  to  hurry  the  animal  that  was  bearing 
her  away  from  David.  So,  she  rode  slowly, 
pondering  many  things,  and  chief  among 
them  the  strange  girl  whose  suffering,  she 
knew,  was  the  measure  of  her  own  happiness. 
She  halted  and  cooked  another  meal  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  once  more  pressed  for- 

297 


298        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

ward.  It  was  near  night  when  she  noticed 
the  quick  flexing  of  her  horse's  ears,  and  in 
the  next  second  her  own  caught  a  moan  that 
sounded  from  somewhere  beyond  the  under- 
brush that  lined  one  side  of  the  trail.  She 
reined  in  the  horse,  and  sat  listening.  The 
moaning  continued.  It  was  plainly  close  at 
hand.  At  first,  a  natural  fear  was  begotten 
in  the  girl  by  the  mysterious  noise.  But  the 
indication  of  suffering  was  so  evident  that 
soon  sympathy  triumphed  over  alarm.  She 
dismounted,  and,  after  making  fast  the  bridle- 
rein  to  a  branch,  cautiously  advanced  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound.  As  she  stepped 
through  the  barrier  of  bushes,  she  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man  lying  on  the  ground  amid 
the  long  grass  of  a  little  open  place  in  the 
wood.  He  was  of  great  size,  and  very  power- 
ful, she  judged.  There  was  something  im- 
pressive in  the  massive  features  and  thick- 
growing  gray  hair  and  beard.  The  lids  be- 
neath the  shaggy  brows  were  fast  shut,  and 
he  lay  inert  as  if  unconscious,  but  he  moaned 
continually.  Ruth  looked  closer,  and  per- 
ceived that  one  trouser  leg  was  splotched  with 
a  blackening  crimson.  The  sight  distressed 
her,  but  it  moved  her  to  a  more  active  display 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        299 

of  sympathy.  She  went  forward,  and  knelt 
on  the  turf  by  the  injured  man.  Her  ques- 
tions, however,  provoked  no  response.  She 
bethought  herself  of  the  flask  at  her  saddle. 
She  hastily  procured  it,  and  managed  with 
much  difficulty  to  get  a  considerable  quantity 
of  the  spirits  down  the  man's  throat. 

The  effect  was  immediate.  The  lids  un- 
closed, and  two  black  eyes  stared  balefully 
up  into  her  face.  A  sonorous  voice  came 
rumbling  roughly. 

"Who  the  devil  be  you-all?" 

"Never  mind  about  me,"  Ruth  answered. 
"You're  hurt — wounded.     You  need  help." 

"Yep.  Shot  through  the  laig.  Gimme  an- 
other swig."  He  nearly  finished  the  con- 
tents of  the  flask  before  he  would  let  it  go 
from  his  lips.  The  liquor  revived  him  in- 
stantly. Lowrie — for  the  wounded  man  was 
indeed  the  chief — struggled  into  a  sitting 
posture,  in  spite  of  the  agony  the  exertion 
caused  him. 

"So  be  ye'r'  willin,  t'  he'p,  ye  kin  tie  a 
piece  o'  yer  skirt  round  my  laig  t'  stop  the 
bleedin,.,,  He  pulled  out  a  clasp-knife. 
"Take  this-hyar,  an'  slit  down  my  pants." 

Ruth  obeyed  willingly  and  deftly,  for  she 


300        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 


was  both  kindly  and  resourceful.  Soon  the 
wound  was  decently  bandaged,  and,  after 
finally  draining  the  flask,  the  Croatan  gave 
a  brief  account  of  how  he  came  to  be  in  such 
evil  case. 

"Hit  was  thet-thar  damn'  skunk,  Charlie 
Goins.  I  knowed  'e  was  thicker 'n  thieves 
with  some  o'  the  tribe.  Got  a  bug  in  'is 
head  'e  could  murder  me,  an'  hev  things  all 
'is  own  way.  Laywayed  me,  'e  did — damn 
'im  t'  hell!  Flopped  me  out  o'  the  saddle. 
'E  thought  'e  'd  done  killed  me,  'cause  I 
lay  still.  'E  come  a-runnin'.  The  long  grass 
hid  my  han's  fr'm  'im.  I  pulled  my  revolver, 
an'  bored  'im  through  the  heart  as  'e  come 
up  t'  me.  Leastways,  I  cal'late  I  got  'im 
plunk  in  the  vitals,  'cause  'e  didn't  even 
squeak — jist  tumbled  down  on  'is  face  like 
'e  was  drunk,  an'  'e's  stayed  thar  ever 
sence."  He  gestured  over  his  shoulder. 
"  'E's  thar  jist  back  o'  thet  log.  No  need 
fer  you-all  t'  pizen  yer  pretty  eyes  with 
lookin'  at  the  ornery  varmint.  'E's  jist 
nacherly  dead  an'  gone  t'  hell." 

Then  a  sudden  change  came  over  him.  He 
regarded  the  shocked  girl  fixedly,  his  brows 
bending  in  a  frown.    He  repeated  his  first 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        301 

question,  with  a  harsh  command  in  his  tone. 

"Who  be  ye,  gal?"  His  expression  hard- 
ened. Before  the  girl  could  answer  him,  a 
curse  burst  from  his  lips.  His  voice  came 
in  a  roar.  "Ye'r'  a  stranger  hyar.  Ye'r' 
thet-thar  gal  they  tol'  me  'bout  what  was 
a-huggin'  an'  a-kissin'  on  David.  I  know 
ye  now.    YeV  thet-thar  slut — cuss  ye!" 

Ruth,  who  was  still  kneeling  beside  the 
man,  sprang  to  her  feet.  For  a  moment,  her 
face  blanched.  Then  the  red  of  anger  suf- 
fused it.  She  threw  back  her  head,  and 
stood  posed  contemptuously,  looking  down 
with  cold  disdain  on  the  man  she  had  suc- 
cored.   Her  voice  as  she  spoke  was  metallic. 

"And  I  know  you.  You're  that  horrible 
old  Indian  chief,  who  wanted  to  harm  my 
David.  I'm  right  sorry  I  found  you.  I've 
done  what  I  could  for  you  so  far.  It's  more 
than  you  deserve." 

The  bluster  was  gone  out  of  Lowrie's  voice 
when  he  next  spoke,  though  he  made  no  effort 
to  placate  her. 

"An'  now  ye've  done  yer  duty,  ye  kin  ride 
away,  an'  leave  me  t'  rot  hyar.  Wall,  go 
on — git  out!" 

"I'll  ride  to  your  village,  and  bring  help 


302        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

back, ' '  Ruth  said,  without  any  hesitation.  ' 1 1 
hope  you  quite  understand.  I'm  doing  this 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  because  I  have  to." 
Abruptly,  her  eyes  sparkled  angrily.  "I 
hope,"  she  concluded  fiercely,  "you'll  be 
dead  before  I  get  back." 

The  chief  looked  after  her  without  resent- 
ment as  she  rode  away.  Her  spirit  had 
wiped  out  his  wrath,  had  provoked  him  to 
admiration.  Moreover,  in  spite  of  his  flare 
of  temper,  he  was  profoundly  grateful  to  the 
girl  to  whom  he  owed  any  chance  of  life  that 
he  might  have.  Ruth,  unknowing  Lowrie's 
later  feeling  toward  her,  put  her  horse  to 
a  gallop,  not  so  much  for  the  wounded  man's 
sake  as  to  be  the  sooner  done  with  a  distaste- 
ful task.  The  night  fell  as  she  rode  back 
over  the  way  she  had  come,  but  the  moon  soon 
rose,  and  she  was  able  to  proceed  at  a  rapid 
pace.  She  had  covered  perhaps  half  the 
distance  to  the  encampment  when  she  heard 
the  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  approaching.  She 
pulled  her  mount  to  a  standstill,  and  waited 
with  a  sensation  of  great  relief.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  she  could  guide  this  wayfarer  to 
the  injured  man,  and  so  be  quit  of  her  duty 
in  the  matter.    She  called  out  hello  as  the 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        303 

horseman  drew  near.  In  the  answering  hail, 
to  her  amazement  and  joy,  she  recognized 
David's  voice. 

The  mutual  surprise  of  the  lovers  over 
this  unexpected  encounter  could  not  mitigate 
their  pleasure  in  it,  nor  lessen  the  ardor  of 
their  greeting.  Ruth  explained  hastily  the 
reason  for  her  presence,  whereupon  David 
found  himself  confronted  with  a  serious  diffi- 
culty. He  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  re- 
turn to  the  Croatan  settlement.  To  do  so 
would  be  to  run  the  risk  of  imprisonment  or 
worse.  Nevertheless,  his  conscience  spoke  in 
no  uncertain  voice.  Like  Ruth,  he  realized 
perfectly  just  where  his  duty  lay.  He  could 
not  leave  even  a  dog  to  die  unattended  by  his 
voluntary  choice,  much  less  the  man  whom 
he  considered  with  justice,  since  Goins  was 
dead,  his  worst  enemy.  He  did  not  feel  that 
he  could  permit  Ruth  to  go  on  to  the  encamp- 
ment without  him,  to  seek  other  assistance. 
There  was,  in  addition,  the  matter  of  time. 
It  might  be  that  a  few  hours'  delay  would 
cause  the  death  of  the  wounded  man.  He 
could  not  tell.  But  he  had  no  right  to  sub- 
ject another  to  such  a  risk  unnecessarily. 
Though  he  debated  the  question  carefully 


304        THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL 

within  himself,  the  issue  was  at  no  time  in 
doubt.  He  told  Ruth  his  decision :  That  the 
two  of  them  should  go  to  Lowrie,  and  bring 
him  on  David's  horse  back  to  his  home. 

"An'  I  hate  him  like  pizen!"  David  grum- 
bled, as  they  rode  off  together. 

"Me,  too!"  Ruth  admitted,  with  a  smile. 
"He  said  horrid  things  to  me." 

On  the  tablets  of  memory  David  splashed 
another  black  mark  against  the  account  of 
the  Croatan  chief. 

"But  I  guess  I  was  as  bad  as  he  was," 
Ruth  continued  penitently.  "Of  course,  I 
didn  't  really  mean  it.  I  told  him  I  hoped  he  'd 
die  before  I  got  back." 

Despite  the  tragedy  that  hemmed  them  in, 
David  roared  with  laughter,  in  which,  some- 
what shamefacedly,  Ruth  presently  joined. 


The  dawn  was  just  breaking  when  the  three 
entered  the  Croatan  encampment.  Lowrie, 
after  the  curse  with  which  he  had  greeted 
David's  appearance,  had  not  uttered  a  word 
throughout  the  tedious  hours,  although  he 
had  acted  obediently  according  to  every  sug- 
gestion from  the  young  man.  The  task  of 
getting  him  into  the  saddle  had  taxed  the 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        305 

strength  of  the  two  to  the  utmost.  Finally, 
his  weakness  had  become  such  that  he  could 
not  support  himself  unaided.  Thereafter, 
Ruth  had  walked,  while  David,  mounted  on 
her  horse,  had  sustained  the  chief  in  his 
arms.  As  they  rode  up  to  the  cabin  door, 
Ruth  was  tottering  from  fatigue ;  David  was 
almost  equally  exhausted  from  the  long-con- 
tinued strain  of  holding  up  the  huge,  inert 
bulk  of  the  wounded  man.  Lowrie  himself 
was  unconscious. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


ELIZABETH,  who  had  not  slept  that 
night,  was  speedily  aroused,  and  at 
once  took  efficient  charge  of  the  situation.  A 
tribesman,  with  some  rude  skill  in  surgery, 
worked  over  the  chief  to  extract  the  bullet, 
and  washed  and  dressed  the  wound.  Ruth 
was  given  a  share  of  Elizabeth's  bed.  David 
volunteered  to  watch  with  the  sick  man,  in 
spite  of  the  weariness  that  weighed  heavily 
upon  him.  Lowrie  throughout  had  main- 
tained a  sullen  silence  after  regaining  con- 
sciousness, except  for  a  string  of  mumbled 
curses  while  the  wound  was  being  probed. 
The  stillness  was  too  much  for  David's  re- 
solve to  keep  awake.  He  fell  asleep,  pres- 
ently, sitting  in  the  chief's  big  armchair,  and 
slept  soundly  until  daybreak.  He  awoke  to 
find  himself  aching  and  cramped,  but  much 
refreshed.  He  was  relieved  by  the  fact  that 
Lowrie  also  was  asleep.  He  supposed  that 
the  sufferer  like  himself  had  slumbered  for 

306 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        307 

hours.  In  truth,  however,  the  chief,  irritated 
by  the  fever  of  his  wound,  had  not  closed  his 
eyes  until  almost  daybreak.  His  brain  had 
been  whirling  with  a  confusion  of  thoughts 
strange  to  him,  and  his  heart  had  been  curi- 
ously stirred  with  new  emotions.  But  he  be- 
trayed nothing  of  this.  "When  he  awoke,  his 
manner  was  still  forbidding,  surly  and  taci- 
turn. David  suspected  no  weakening  in  the 
brutal  animosity  of  the  man  toward  himself 
and  toward  Ruth.  It  may  be,  nevertheless, 
that  the  more  discerning  eyes  of  the  princess 
were  able  to  read  the  truth  lying  back  of 
that  stern  and  gloomy  exterior.  It  is  cer- 
tain, at  least,  that  she  had  the  courage  to 
confront  him  boldly,  without  pretense,  or  any 
attempt  at  palliation  of  her  audacity. 

Ruth  and  David  were  talking  softly  to- 
gether in  one  end  of  the  room,  while  Eliza- 
beth was  at  her  father's  bedside.  There  was 
no  one  else  present.  Elizabeth  beckoned 
them  to  approach.  They  obeyed,  much  mysti- 
fied, and  stood  hand  in  hand  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  Lowrie  glowered  at  them,  but  ut- 
tered no  word.  It  was  his  daughter  who, 
looking  down  on  him  with  fearless  eyes,  only 
a  little  dimmed  by  the  great  sorrow  in  her 


308        THE  HOMEWABD  TRAIL 

soul,  spoke  very  gently,  the  music  of  her 
voice  half-pleading,  half -commanding. 

"  Pappy,  David  and  Euth  are  going  now. 
I  want  you  to  tell  them  for  yourself,  they're 
free  to  go." 

The  face  of  the  prostrate  chief  purpled. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  that  his 
authority  had  been  flaunted,  had  been  usurped 
by  another.  Eesentment  burned  hot  within 
him.  But  only  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  the 
color  faded  slowly  from  his  face,  and  the 
fires  in  the  eyes  he  had  turned  on  his  daughter 
were  quenched.  Yet  he  spoke  no  word,  only 
continued  staring  at  her  with  questioning 
gaze  as  if  demanding  more. 

Elizabeth  answered  the  mute  inquiry.  Her 
voice  now  was  colorless.  She  spoke  in  a 
level  tone,  mechanically.  It  was  as  if  she 
reasoned  coldly,  without  any  trace  of  emo- 
tion. It  was  thus  only  that  she  could  speak 
at  all. 

"You  claimed  David  owed  me  his  life,  be- 
cause I  saved  him.  But  you  didn't  under- 
stand, pappy.  I  don't  want  David's  life — " 
she  hesitated  for  an  instant,  with  a  catch  of 
the  breath — "I  really  don't  want  David.  He 
belongs  to  Euth,  and  he  loves  her.    And  it 


THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL        309 

would  break  Ruth's  heart  to  lose  him,  because 
she  loves  him  so."  She  did  not  say  that  she 
knew  the  truth  of  this  from  the  anguish 
within  her  own  breast.  "You  see,  pappy,  if 
it's  true  that  David  owes  me  his  life,  it's  just 
as  true  that  you  owe  your  life  to  Ruth. 
But  she  doesn't  want  your  life.  She  wants 
David's.  So,  because  you  owe  her  a  life, 
you  must  give  David  back  to  her. ' ' 

For  a  full  minute,  the  chief  rested  motion- 
less and  silent,  regarding  his  daughter  with 
somber  eyes.  Then  his  gaze  shifted  to  the 
two  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The 
grim  face  lightened  a  little  as  he  studied 
Ruth. 

"Ye  hoped  I'd  die  afore  ye  got  back.  I 
don't  aim  t'  obleege  ye  none  by  dyinV'  he 
rumbled.  A  hoarse  chuckle  followed  the 
words.  "But  I'll  obleege  ye  by  givin'  ye 
thet-thar  feller  o'  your'n.  An'  good  rid- 
dance ! ' '  Having  so  said,  Lowrie  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall  without  another  word  or 
glance. 

There  were  hasty  farewells  between  Eliza- 
beth and  the  lovers.  The  parting  of  the  girls 
was  tender  with  kisses,  and  there  were  tears 
in  the  eyes  of  both.    But  the  parting  of  David 


310        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

and  Elizabeth  was  constrained,  hastened  and 
made  formal  by  the  emotions  which  each  felt. 
As  the  lovers  rode  away  down  the  street 
and  out  of  the  encampment  into  the  river- 
trail,  David's  heart  was  heavy  within  him. 
Once  again  in  memory  came  the  thrill  of  those 
wonderful  hours  with  the  princess  in  the 
cavern.  Once  again  the  glamour  of  that  pas- 
sion lay  over  him.  By  stern  effort  of  will, 
he  turned  his  thoughts  from  such  recollec- 
tions, which  were  a  treachery  to  the  girl  at 
his  side.  But  he  knew  that  in  the  days  to 
come  the  memory  would  linger  always — the 
memory  of  a  woman  sweet  and  strong  and 
exquisite,  who  loved  him.  He  sighed  impa- 
tiently. Then  he  remembered  the  chief,  at 
whose  hand  she  had  suffered  so  much.  He 
sighed  again,  with  relief  that  he  had  seen  the 
last  of  the  reckless  and  savage  autocrat. 
There  was  subtle  comfort  to  him  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  princess,  adorable  as  she  was, 
was  one  of  a  strange  people,  whose  ways 
were  not  his  ways.  He  glanced  at  the  radiant 
face  of  the  girl  beside  him;  and  his  comfort 
was  complete.  After  all,  he  loved  Euth,  and 
her  only ;  and  her  people  were  his  people,  and 
her  ways,  his  ways. 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        311 

The  girl  was  bubbling  over  with  delight. 
Even  sympathy  for  Elizabeth  could  not 
weigh  down  the  lightness  of  her  spirits. 
But  she  was  not  unmindful  of  the  one 
to  whom  she  owed  so  much,  as  her  words 
proved. 

' i  Elizabeth  has  promised  to  pay  me  a  long 
visit  sometime."  She  laughed  a  little,  a 
ripple  of  music.  "You  know,  David,  I  owe 
the  princess  a  life — yours,  David.  I'm  go- 
ing to  pay  with  another  life — the  way  she 
made  her  pappy  pay." 

David  looked  puzzled,  and  Ruth  laughed 
again  at  his  bewilderment.  Then  she  ex- 
plained, with  the  utmost  seriousness. 

"I'm  going  to  find  a  husband  for  Elizabeth, 
and  give  him  to  her  to  pay  my  debt.  Any- 
how," she  added  indignantly,  "she's  much 
too  good  for  any  of  those  Indians." 

And  David,  though  he  said  nothing,  agreed 
with  her. 

"I  feel  pretty  small,  goin'  back  t'  yer 
pappy,  Ruth,"  David  confessed,  "without 
the  money  t'  pay  fer  them  apples."  His 
face  was  lugubrious. 

Ruth  smiled  on  him  reassuringly. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  David.    Pappy 's  had 


312        THE  HOMEWAED  TRAIL 

a  letter  from  your  pappy.  He's  been  ex- 
changed, and  is  coming  home.  And — and — " 
she  hesitated,  and  her  face  grew  rosy — "well, 
he's  anxious  to  have  you  run  things,  and — " 
She  broke  off  in  confusion. 

David  smiled  on  her  understandingly  in  his 
turn. 

"Wants  me  t'  marry  an'  settle  down, 
p'r'aps?"  he  suggested  quizzically. 

Euth  nodded,  her  face  even  rosier  than  be- 
fore. 

"I'm  sorry  yer  pappy 's  got  a  grudge  agin 
me,"  David  said,  with  a  return  to  serious- 
ness. 

But  Euth  shook  her  head  in  vehement 
denial. 

"Pappy  hasn't  any  grudge.  He's  shown 
how  sorry  he  was  to  mammy  and  me — and 
Mollie.  You  don't  need  to  worry  about  that, 
David." 

The  sweet  cadences  of  her  laughter  rang 
again. 

"And  I  know  what  pappy 's  going  to  give 
you  for  a  wedding  present,  David." 

"What?"  he  demanded. 

"A  whole  load  of  limber-twig  apples." 

"The   same   having   already   been   deliv- 


THE  HOMEWARD  TRAIL        313 

ered,"  David  added,  and  joined  in  her 
laughter. 

On  a  little  rise  of  the  road,  by  a  common 
instinct,  the  lovers  drew  rein,  and  looked 
back  toward  the  encampment,  which  nestled 
snugly  within  the  frame  of  woodland  foliage, 
now  dimming  from  its  autumnal  splendors. 
They  could  not  make  out  the  figure  of  the 
girl  who  stood  solitary  and  desolate  by  the 
spring,  looking  with  pain-blinded  eyes  toward 
the  vast  spaces  of  the  sky. 

The  lovers  gazed  back  for  a  moment.  Then, 
without  a  word,  their  eyes  turned  to  each 
other  in  tenderness,  and  their  lips  smiled 
from  the  happiness  that  was  in  their  hearts 
as  they  rode  forward  on  the  homeward  trail. 


THE  END. 


AUTHOE'S  NOTE 

The  author  has  adapted  the  facts  in  the  life 
of  Henry  Lowrie  to  suit  the  purposes  of  the 
story.  Otherwise,  references  to  the  Croatans 
are  historically  correct. 


314 


